The Divine Hunter

Chapter 202: Berengar’s Terms

The sun had set under the horizon, and dusk was starting to descend unto the land. The people in the temple area started lighting up their torches and oil lamps, illuminating the shadowy area. Three witchers came into a house in Hemp Alley. Berengar lit the oil lamp on the table, and its light kept the shadows at bay.

Like most houses of witchers, there were no ornaments hanging around Berengar’s place. Aside from a few worn-down furniture, there was only a thin, oily bed on the ground. Empty wine bottles were strewn across the floor, and a thick blanket of dust covered the floorboards. The place was even dirtier than a dog house.

Roy joked, “You’ll love Serrit and Auckes. You guys have the same taste in interior decor. I bet you’ll have a lot to talk about. You might spend the whole night drinking.”

“It’s hard making a living in Vizima. Winding down is important, and wine is essential.” Berengar unstrapped Tor’haerne and hung it on the wall. He heaved a sigh and plopped down on his sofa that was riddled with holes. “You understand, don’t you? I live in fear every day. I’d probably go mad without any wine.”

Letho had a look of understanding and agreement on his face. They went through a lot of trials and tribulations to become a witcher, but then they had to live an even more dangerous life just to make a living. The people resented and ostracized them just because they were witchers. It was not exactly an easy life. Perhaps that was one of the reasons Berengar renounced his witcher identity.

“You said you thought we were hunting you down?”

“It was just a guess. I couldn’t be sure about it.” He squinted and laughed at himself. “I got a job from a madman in Vizima, but decided not to accept it. Spent all of the deposit though. That guy would never let me off the hook that easily.”

“You thought we were debt collectors sent by that guy?”

“Yeah, but things don’t look that bad at the moment.”

“You say he’s a madman?” Roy did not recall such a person in Vizima before. “Who’s the guy?”

“Don’t talk about him.” Berengar rummaged through his sofa and whipped a bottle of beer out. He uncorked it and gulped the liquid down, then he tossed it to Letho. Letho drank without complaints. Berengar said, “I guess you’re here for a weapons request?”

Roy and Letho exchanged looks, and the young wither handed the blueprint to Berengar. Berengar skimmed through it nonchalantly at first, but eventually he started getting serious.

Roy was getting nervous as well.

‘Berengar

Age: Seventy-nine years old

Gender: Male

Status: Wolf School witcher

HP: 240

Mana: 120

Strength: 20

Dexterity: 21

Constitution: 20

Perception: 13

Will: 8

Charisma: 5

Spirit: 12

Skills:

Witcher Signs Level 6, Meditation Level 8, Wolf School Swordsmanship Level 8, Witcher Senses Level 10, Alchemy Level 10, Blacksmithing Level 10…’

In terms of stats and skills alone, Berengar was the weakest witcher Roy had ever met. “Level 10 Blacksmithing? That’s worse than Mahakam’s Great Elder’s Ancient Crafting.”

If Berengar could not help them, then Roy would have to try his luck at the Crow’s Perch in Velen and see if he could find that female blacksmith. Dwarves were off limits. They crossed Mahakam’s leader, and they would not ask them for help.

After he cast Observe on Berengar, Roy turned his attention to the silver sword that had a V-shaped crossguard and reddish-brown hilt.

‘Tor’haerne.

(Specially made by Berengar, the Wolf School witcher)

Type: Silver sword

Materials: Meteorite ore, silver ingot, monster blood, monster claw, monster feather.

Traits: Weighs 3.06 pounds, hilt measures at 9.3 inches, blade measures at 36 inches.

Affixes:

Bleeding: Wounds caused by Tor’haerne will bleed nonstop.

Sharp Blade: Thanks to Berengar’s craftsmanship, Tor’haerne has double the sharpness of other swords. It can cut through light armor easily and maintain its durability for a longer time.’

“Not bad. Guess this guy has some skills. No wonder Letho’s sword got so messed up.”

***

“Viper School’s twin blades. This craftsmanship is spectacular. It’s almost on par with Tor’haerne. Your regular blacksmith won’t even know how to make this.” Berengar was so engrossed with the smithy, he was millimeters away from it.

“So can you make this?”

Berengar smiled, and his look of dejection was replaced with confidence. His eyes were shining like two little suns. “I made Tor’haerne. I can make these, of course, but before I start my work, I’ll need two things.”

“Say it.” The witchers pursed their lips, hoping that Berengar would not quote them an impossible price.

“I’ll need all the necessary materials, and they must be sufficient. I can’t guarantee the final product’s quality otherwise.”

“Of course. We have them at the ready.” The swords’ main materials were made up of four things: leather straps, iron ingots, emerald dust, and venom extract. They could buy leather straps easily from the marketplace merchants, and blacksmith shops had iron ingots. Emerald dust was aplenty in jewelry shops, and sorcerers used them to cast their spells. The most important material, venom extract, came from ghouls. Roy had them in stock.

The silver sword required one extra material—silver ingots. The silver covered the iron core, and they did not come cheap. Jewelry shops had them, however, and they could be used in blacksmithing. The higher the silver content was in a sword, the more effective the weapon was against monsters, but the witchers did not have enough crowns to pay for that, and silver-coated swords were enough to handle most situations.

The steel swords cost two hundred crowns each, while the silver swords cost four hundred, which was double the cost of its steel counterpart.

“Secondly, this is a business deal.” Berengar raised two fingers. “I am going to spend a lot of time and effort making your weapons. I think a reward is in order.”

Roy looked at him innocently and whispered, “Twenty crowns?”

Berengar’s face fell, and a storm brewed in his eyes. “Is that supposed to be a joke, child? Do you think I’m a mere beggar?”

“I’m kidding, Mr. Berengar. Two hundred crowns, no problem.” He looked at Letho. The veteran witcher did not like the price, but he nodded.

Berengar was scamming his brethren. Most blacksmiths would only ask for a few dozen crowns for a steel sword, excluding the price of the materials. Berengar more than doubled the price, but the witchers had no choice.

“So three steel swords and silver swords will cost six hundred crowns, right?” Serrit and Auckes needed new weapons too. They had the blueprint and blacksmith, so might as well settle it at once.

Berengar cocked his eyebrow, and he had a look of horror on his face. “Do you know how long it takes to make a weapon, kid? You want me to make six at once? I’m not a mule!”

“Mr. Berengar, think about this. Making weapons is a lot safer than taking requests,” Roy said, trying to persuade him. “Six hundred crowns is enough for a year’s supply of wine.”

Berengar fell into a dilemma, and he struggled with himself to reach a decision. In the end, he said, “I can make them if you want, but you’ll have to give me a hundred crowns more for that.”

“How does fifty sound?”

“You’re not at a brothel, kid. No haggling,” Berengar hissed. “Either you give me seven hundred crowns, or you get another blacksmith for this.”

“It’s alright, kid. We’ll pay him the seven hundred.” Letho crossed his arms.

***

“Good. The money’s settled then, but I have another request.” Berengar continued matter-of-factly, as if he thought this was something the witchers should offer. “I’ve made the calculations, and with my level of blacksmithing, it’ll take me about ten days to make two weapons. Three pairs of that will take about a month. You’ll have to be my bodyguard for that duration. Interruptions are not allowed when I work, especially not from my ex-creditor. I might slip and ruin the weapon, and the loss is on your head.”

“Honestly, what are you trying to do?” Roy shot him a sharp look and bared his teeth. “Are you asking us to keep that madman out for you?”

“Just for a month or so,” Berengar assured. “Just stand outside the shop, and he’ll never get near me. Not like he can find me anyway.”

“Who is that guy anyway?” Roy asked.

“Just an alchemist-cum-sorcerer. Has a few screws loose in his head.” There was fear in Berengar’s eyes. “Can’t tell you too much about him. Bound by a nondisclosure clause.”

“We’ll give you the deposit, and you can pay him back,” Letho suggested.

Berengar shook his head adamantly. “If push comes to shove, you can pay him the two hundred crowns when he shows up. I’ll deduct the money from your payment. Of course, it’d be best if we didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s not easy dealing with an alchemist. We’ll have to talk about the payment.”

***

After a lot of negotiations later, the witchers finally came to an agreement, and they were already drenched in sweat. The payment was reduced from seven hundred to six hundred, but Roy and Letho would have to contact the nearby blacksmiths and borrow their furnace, hammers, anvils, and other tools.

“You just won’t budge, huh?” Roy mocked. “You raise your prices however you want the moment you get a customer. I bet you have done this before.”

“I could say the same to you.” Berengar smiled, but it looked as fake as plastic. The brutal negotiations had exhausted him, and he looked lethargic. “I’ve never seen a young lad as stingy as you. You shouldn’t be a witcher. You should be a merchant.”

“By the way…” Berengar took a swig of his beer to calm down. “Where did you get these blueprints?”

“Why do you want to know? I could have taken them from the school’s archives.”

“As if,” Berengar retorted. “As far as I know, most of the Viper School’s blueprints are scattered throughout these lands.”

Letho looked surprised that he knew. “Who told you this? Kolgrim?”

Brengar shook his head and answered without hesitating, “Twenty years ago, I met a Viper School witcher near Dol Blathanna. He was searching for his school’s equipment blueprints, and his name was… let’s see… Ivar Evil-Eye.”

“What’d you say?” Roy and Letho exchanged looks of shock. Ivar Evil-Eye never returned after he left the school two decades ago, and they never thought they would find out about him in this place.

“Tell us more, Mr. Berengar. What happened next?” Roy asked, sounding a little out of breath. “Did Mr. Ivar tell you where he was going? Is he still in Aedirn?”

“I’m sorry. I only shared a drink with him in an inn. We didn’t even talk for ten minutes.” Berengar sighed. “And it’s been twenty years. I can’t remember most of the details.”

The air was fraught with gloom, filled with nothing but the sound of Berengar gulping his beer down.

“Give me some.” Letho snatched the beer from Berengar, but the witcher did not mind. He turned to the young witcher. “Want some, merchant?” Berengar asked.

“Do you have any cider?”

“Only women and kids like that kind of stuff.”

“That’s because you have no taste at all.” Roy was reminded of something, and he put on a calm and collected look as he said, “Let’s not talk about the Viper School. How’s the Wolf School doing?”

“Who knows?” Berengar bit on the lip of the bottle and kept quiet for a few moments. “I’ve cut all ties with them. I’m just a mercenary now. I have no time to care about witchers and their politics.”

“How long has it been since you left Kaer Morhen?”

“More than ten years.”

“You—”

“That’s enough, kid,” Berengar stopped him impatiently. “You should know when to stop asking. You two should get prepared now. I’ll have to work starting tomorrow.”

***

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