Chapter 266: The Terms of the Wager

“Have you changed your mind? Will you trade with me after all?” Gaunter O’Dimm’s cold gaze rested on the Witcher, like a spider crouched in a web it had already spun, waiting for prey to walk in of its own accord.

“The thought of being tangled up with you in the days to come ruins my appetite and my sleep.” Roy shook his head, his face full of naked distaste. “So I need a way to rid myself of you once and for all. I want a wager.”

When Roy spoke those words, his feelings were tangled. There was fear, masked as calm, and there was exhilaration, sharp and bright as a surge of adrenaline.

Wagering with Master Mirror was no different from bargaining with a devil. No matter how splendid his promises sounded, no matter how astounding the wishes he could grant, they were all worthless beside the payment he always took in the end, the soul.

And the Lady of the Lake had once guided Roy toward the mysteries of the soul, so he understood even more clearly how irreplaceable it was.

Who knew what Master Mirror did with the souls of those who signed his Contracts? Devoured them, absorbed them, or truly took them on the “interesting journey” he described?

Roy had no desire to find out, and by rights should have refused without hesitation.

But Gaunter O’Dimm had deliberately spoken of his friends, his family, and Old Mole and his wife far away in Novigrad.

Roy wanted to ignore it all and live freely for himself, but he could not. Only the strong were free of shackles.

Better to strike first than keep retreating and wait for those he cared about to be dragged into a vast danger.

The loser would be left with nothing, the winner would take all.

“Master Mirror, Gaunter O’Dimm, do you dare make a wager with me? If you win, you may take the stake, my soul.”

“Now that is something. A wager, a challenge? It has been thirty years or so since anyone made such a request of me. Courageous little fellow, and what are your terms?”

“If I win, first, I want the complete process of the School of the Griffin witcher mutation, the formula for the Decoctions of the Grasses, the mutation and enhancement procedures, all of it. Second, I want a workable method to strengthen the Elder Blood in my body.”

Roy had always feared that power and treasures obtained directly from O’Dimm could be taken back at any time. But a path toward power, something earned through the proper effort, that would truly belong to him.

“Wait a moment.” The instant the words fell, Master Mirror’s body scattered like smoke in the wind and vanished into the air.

Only a pale yellow afterimage remained.

Roy’s eyes narrowed, his mouth parting slightly.

What was that? Instant teleportation?

Two seconds later, he appeared again and gave an apologetic smile. “Forgive the delay. Elder Blood was something of a nuisance. It took some thought, but it is settled now. Those two requests are acceptable. Anything else?”

Roy stared into Master Mirror’s pitch-black eyes, drew a slow breath, and forced down the pounding in his chest.

“If by some stroke of luck I win a round, then leave this world. Do not come back, and do not use even the slightest shred of your power to touch or corrupt it.”

“My apologies, friend.” Gaunter O’Dimm cut him off at once, the corners of his mouth twisting into a mocking smile. “Do you not think that is asking a touch too much? I admit you are a quality customer, but you are hardly my only choice. This world teems with people driven by desire, more than you could ever count.”

He sneered. “To fell a single tree and abandon the whole forest, to pluck one flower and abandon the whole garden? To surrender countless potential customers, and accept exile, all for one singular soul? Not a chance.”