Bear School Astartes

After the morning exercise, Lann didn’t immediately go back to find Margaret or Tishaya.

The two female warlocks must have planned something last night, making him feel uneasy.

”So you came to me?”

Belengar rarely wasn’t tinkering away by the furnace; he was seriously looking at a list.

After all, hands-on ironwork is his hobby, also a way for a grandmaster-level blacksmith to maintain his touch.

But his actual job is to oversee the entire production process of Valyrian Steel.

Including quality control of the billets, and production efficiency, etc.

Now Lann was sitting opposite Belengar’s desk, with both elbows resting on the tabletop, hands propping up his chin.

This was a small office built inside the Valyrian Steel billet production workshop, outside burly men were swinging hammers at ingots, while Belengar was working inside.

When Lann mentioned the unease he felt at Margaret’s place, Belengar leaned forward with great interest.

”So, you’re starting to feel you can’t handle it? Overwhelmed?”

Lann glanced at the old demon hunter, as the aura added by the acceptance of the Curse Fire spread out, feeling both burning hot and overwhelming.

It seemed like nothing was said, yet everything was implied.

Belengar grinned awkwardly and pulled back his body.

”In short, I’m quite at a loss now. A whole bunch of industrial fund gaps, even if the gaps were bridged, I’d still need to find someone to manage it.”

”If you ask me...” Belengar said, reclining back on his chair, with a tone neither of teasing nor jealousy.

”Airetusa has big businesses, just open your mouth and ask, and heaps of gold coins could bury a person.”

”No.” Lann outright refused, ”I always feel, if I used to rely on them when I had no choice, now that I’m successful, still relying on them, then what’s the point of my success?”

”Ha, now you’re being stubborn.”

Belengar mocked with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, also with a tone neither strictly of teasing nor jealousy.

Because it felt oddly satisfying, Lann decided not to fuss with him.

The sound of knocking echoed twice, the sound of the wooden door being knocked, although drowned out by the clamor of iron works, was distinctly recognizable from the noise.

The visitor was evidently already familiar with Belengar, as they pushed the door open before a response was heard from the office.

”Hey, White Wolf. How are you?”

Lann tilted his body slightly in the chair, raising a hand in greeting once he saw who entered.

Geralt wasn’t expecting Lann to be here, but he quickly came to grips with it.

After all, this time Lann greeted him without that damned smile, as the young demon hunter wasn’t in a good mood.

”Hello, Lann. Didn’t expect to run into you here.”

Geralt’s deep, gravelly voice sounded, complementing his charmingly deadpan rugged face.

”What? You thought I’d die out there?”

”Could be.”

The two joked about death; people in the demon hunter profession aren’t that superstitious, despite often dealing with curses and the like.

It’s precisely because they’ve seen all sorts of outlandish curses and magic, they are open-minded.

Discussing their own deaths becomes a unique topic in demon hunters’ conversations.

Geralt pulled over a chair from the side, closed the door, and sat down as well.

Now there were three pairs of cat-like eyes in the room.

”Is work smooth?”

Reuniting with an old friend somewhat alleviated Lann’s worries, he asked with a smile.

To ensure Ciri’s life at Ker Morhan, the Wolf School demon hunters needed some to remain in the hidden castle to protect her and train her.

While the rest needed to go out to earn a living.

Geralt, ever since last time, tagged along with Belengar to Gos Velen to find work.

”Pretty good.” Geralt responded while knocking off dirt from his boots onto the wooden floor.

”Velen is an ancient land, where ancient races have left divine halls, tombs, laboratories protected by mechanisms... Airetusa is generous to explorers; this place indeed suits demon hunters for the work.”

Ancient races being referred to are those settled long before humans appeared on the continent.

Including elves, dwarves, gnomes, half-elves, treants, etc.

Recently, Airetusa developed interest in these ancient creators’ knowledge and organized exploration missions.

Geralt is now engaged in such explorations.

The academy would buy ancient magical artifacts or knowledge from explorers at high prices.

Since now the academy’s cash flow faced the dilemma of how to spend.

”I already wrote to Yennefer months ago... She replied, agreeing. She should be at Ker Morhan by now, taking care of Ciri’s life. No need to worry.”

Because during the Northern War, Lann was with them taking care of Ciri, and eventually seeing them safely out of the warzone.

Thus, Geralt and the Wolf School buddies felt Lann had the right to know and intervene in Ciri’s current situation.

Hence, after sharing his own work situation, Geralt took the initiative to tell the young man about his arrangements for Ciri.

”That’s good, a young girl’s well-being must be overseen by mature women. We bunch of men don’t understand a thing.”

Lann first acknowledged Geralt’s actions.

It seems he took my advice to heart and realized: letting Ciri grow up healthy is far more important than his excessive and deeply hidden pride.

From Lann’s understanding of Geralt, writing a letter to Yennefer must have been quite a torment for him.

Sure enough, Belengar, who was enjoying the show, commented on Geralt’s expression when he was just talking about ’letter writing.’

”But at the time, seeing your expression while writing the letter, I thought you were going to challenge a dragon head-on.”

Belengar shook his head as he spoke, half exasperated, half amused.

”How did it start again? ’Dear good friend’? I really can’t believe it, you must have stewed over it for two hours, right? And this is all you came up with.”

Lann also looked at Geralt with a strange expression.

Asking Yennefer for a favor, and addressing her as ’good friend’ instead of ’my love’... what kind of ’good friend’ travels thousands of miles to a remote castle on the edge of the civilized world to babysit?

”Geralt, let me confirm something...” Lann carefully considered his words, ”Uh, have you ever asked someone for a favor before?”

Geralt put both hands together, covering his face, and rubbed it.

”No, don’t say it, Lann. I’m begging you.”

A muffled sigh of near-pleading came from beneath the leather-gloved hands.

Unfortunately, Belengar seemed to enjoy using his ’Wolf School style sarcasm’ against his own people.

”Yeah, ’I’m begging you.’ It would’ve been nice if you could have written that in the letter too, huh.”

”Look at the reply from the Female Warlock, she also calls you ’dear friend,’ the sarcasm nearly leaps off the paper.”

Listening to Belengar, Lann immediately felt like he’d missed out on a lot of fun.

”Well, it seems everyone isn’t doing too well.”

Lann patted Geralt on the shoulder, sighing.

”Hmph, do you have a story too?”

Geralt first brushed off Lann’s hand from his shoulder, thinking someone like Lann must be having a good life.

But then, Lann told him about his impending bankruptcy situation.

”So what, you’re going to become an ordinary Demon Hunter?”

Geralt crossed his arms, looking at Lann beside him.

”Going around looking for work, getting underpaid, being spat on like a leper when passing by?”

”Why do I feel like you’re getting more and more excited as you speak?”

”No, not at all. I’m about to cry.”

Geralt’s expressionless face, honed to avoid trouble, sometimes really made it hard to read his emotions.

But in front of Lann, he could feel Geralt’s humor, which could even be called cheerful.

White Wolf isn’t foolish at all, the more contact he has with Lann, the more he knows that the money is not a problem for him.

Instead, it can be used as a joke.

If Lann were really troubled by this money to the point of bankruptcy, he would not be joking about it.

Geralt has restraint, and whether he admits it or not, he’s trying his best not to hurt others.

Be it physically or mentally.

So Lann doesn’t get angry at Geralt’s ribbing.

”Alright, back to the point.” After the joke was over, Geralt seemed to remember something and said to Lann.

”Now, you’re more worried about who to hand over your business to, rather than the gap in money, right?”

”What? Does the famous White Wolf want to venture into the financial industry?”

As a comeback for the earlier joke, Lann eased into a comfortable position on the chair, looking at Geralt.

”No, I know my limitations, I can’t handle anything too complicated.”

Geralt shrugged with his hands.

”But I might know a trustworthy... person?”

This time it was Lann’s turn to be stunned.

”You really know a finance person? And why were you so unsure when you said ’person’?”

”I don’t know if he deals with hedge funds or anything, but he is indeed a capable merchant. Once turned a dozen packhorses into several hundredfold in Novigrad. As for ’person’...”

Geralt scratched his chin, which was surrounded by a circle of white stubble.

”Hmm... have you heard of doppelgangers, shapeshifters, or mimics? Which term do you like?”

Lann frowned slightly, speaking.

”Are you talking about shapeshifters? What’s a shapeshifter got to do with merchants... no, wait. You mean?”

At this point, not only Lann showed a surprised expression, but even Belengar put down the reports in his hand and looked up at Geralt.

”Yes.” Geralt gave a sheepish smile.

”The impressive merchant I’m talking about is a... uh, shapeshifter.”

”His name is Trico Langrewenke Letot. My friends, like Dandelion, and I, for convenience, just call him Dudu.”