Lann blinked in confusion, with a look that said, ’Is it who’s not normal, or is it you?’
anwhile, Dandelion kept speaking excitedly.
"’Victory Kiss’! Though not crafted by a renowned hand, the timing of the painting’s appearance and the scene it depicts are too fitting."
"I heard that at the end of the Sodden Mountain battle, Lady Tishaya mournfully held that shield with the sketch drawn on it, and both Veltrest and Vizimir were deeply moved by it."
"This story is known by everyone, Lann!"
The Demon Hunter couldn’t utter a word; he licked his lips, scratched his head, and looked completely at a loss.
Lann was well aware that the ’Tishaya’ on the Sodden Mountain battlefield at that ti was actually Margaret using an illusion magic, acting as the ’person inside’.
But to the onlookers, who didn’t have the [Spiritual Vision] to see through the façade, whether it was the kiss at that ti or Margaret’s later sorrow for the fallen soldier-artist at the war’s end,
it was all wrapped in a layer of ’Tishaya’s skin.’
With a sudden ’smack,’ just as Dandelion was about to head backstage to hand over the hastily made cloak as a prop to the theater group, Lann grabbed him.
The poet stumbled from being yanked.
"Hey, what are you doing? You almost tore my hand off!"
"If your hand got torn off, I could get you a new one." Lann said indifferently, while seriously staring at Dandelion, as if trying to confirm so extrely important matter.
"But this love story... needs to change! Master Dan! It really needs to change!"
"Change?! How should it change?!"
Not ntioning it was fine, but Dandelion seed even more excited than Lann.
"I know you have a psychological burden; Lady Margarita and Triss are enough to make you tremble with fear, right? Female Warlocks are like that, powerful and self-centered. A man caught between two female Warlocks is like an ice cube caught between two hot irons. Shattered to pieces wouldn’t even describe it lightly."
"Now there’s soone even more formidable mixed in... but your discomfort is one thing, yet isn’t this the truth? We, the scriptwriters, can embellish or adapt, but we cannot ignore the truth!"
"In that painting, it’s just the two of you, embracing in a kiss on the battlefield! How do you want to change it? Change the dignified, steady, black-haired Tishaya de Veris into the glamorous, cheerful, blonde Marguerite Lox Andelie?"
In the end, Dandelion resolutely refused, with the proud stance of a literati.
He lifted his head, as if displaying his inviolable dignity.
"I will never lie to art, Lann!"
"But that was Margaret, she used illusion magic at that ti."
Lann said seriously.
"Ah?"
Dandelion looked at Lann in surprise, not needing any other thods; Lann could imdiately see what he was thinking.
——You had soone pretend to be the teacher? Can magic be used like that?
"I really wish the first thing in your mind wasn’t ’gaplay,’ but rather the political stance at that ti."
The Demon Hunter covered his head, lanting with a headache.
Dandelion also realized that on the battlefield, the primary issue seed to indeed be a matter of stance, with no ti to think about anything else.
But even if the poet realized, he still waved his hand resolutely.
"Poetic art isn’t for uncovering the truth behind facts, Lann. That’s for historians and pedantics to do; it’s ant to move people."
"You and Tishaya de Veris kissed on the battlefield; that’s the scene everyone saw and was moved by. So, I will depict it."
"Can’t you just delete it?" Lann, seeing Dandelion’s stubborn face seed to be ablaze with a sense of subli glory, couldn’t help holding onto a last bit of hope, asking him.
"Delete the romantic plotline, and let’s simply celebrate the glorious deeds on the battlefield, how about that?"
"Delete?" Dandelion coldly smiled, looking at the tall Demon Hunter. "Heh, did you see the script in Lady Irena’s hand?"
Lann glanced toward the makeshift wooden stage set up at the slaughterhouse grounds; Lady Irena was wearing a dress with a wide-open neckline, and her hair was neatly styled in a dignified manner.
It seed she was the one chosen to play Tishaya.
The thickness of the script in her hand looked about the length of a finger.
Dandelion said coldly beside Lann: "Delete the romantic plotline, and guess how much of that thick script would be left, dear Lann?"
"How, how much?"
"About the thickness of a fingernail." Dandelion used his thumb to hold the small fingernail of his little finger, indicating to Lann. "Just this small. Like other Mages at the Sodden Mountain battle, rely a passing guest in a great drama."
"And that’s just her script, the lead’s script, the supporting characters’ script... Amazing, my lord Duke, you just slashed this play’s duration by at least half with a single sentence!"
Lann painfully pressed his forehead.
As Dandelion quickly slipped backstage: "Don’t think about it, can’t be changed, that’s how it is."
-----------------
The hastily made Alchemy Cloak was sent into the hands of the main character backstage.
This cloak will appear as a prop throughout the entire play, running through the entire plot. In terms of product sponsorship, you simply can’t find another like it.
Of course, by this ti, theater performances already adopted ’sponsorship’ as an investnt form. But this kind of product placent concept was still a first.
On the bustling street outside, more and more people passed by this place, originally a slaughterhouse, attracted by the lively and strange sounds inside.
"Is there a performance inside now?"
"No, people are just rehearsing. But the rehearsal is quite good too. Want to buy a ticket and check it out?"
At the venue’s entrance, the troupe’s ticket seller skillfully set up a table to sell tickets, which is the troupe’s primary revenue source.
The wooden door of the venue creaked open, and Geralt’s Wolf School boots made a ’click-clack’ sound on the muddy ground as he walked in.
He sniffed, getting used to the scent lingering in the muddy ground of the slaughterhouse.
"Finally got it done."
He sat beside Lann, his elbow resting on his knee, leaning forward to watch the stage.
Below the stage were those long benches from the tavern, and Geralt and Lann were now sitting on one of them.
"You don’t seem too tired."
Lann tilted his head to look at him.
"This work isn’t tiring, but it’s too fragnted." Geralt shook his head, his ponytail of milky white hair swaying.
"I found the Sea Parrot, a group of jugglers, responsible for promoting the performance. I also went to the pier to find so tough-looking Skellige sailors as on-site security."
"Riding around this big city really drives nuts. It’s inconvenient even on horseback."
"Glad it’s over?"
"Yeah, glad it’s over."
Lann handed Geralt an apple, which he got from the troupe.
Geralt took it and began munching, after a few bites, he nudged Lann beside him with his knee.
"Soone wants to et you..." He gestured broadly to the side with the hand holding the apple, "He’s here."
With that, he bit into the apple, propped his hands on his knees, stood up by himself, and walked off to the side.
Replacing him was an unremarkable-looking man wearing a frayed linen shirt and a leather jacket stained black with oil.
Lann continued watching the rehearsal actors coming and going on stage as usual.
"Nice to et you, Duke Lann."
The man who sat next to the Demon Hunter also gazed intently at the stage but spoke.
"I knew from the first day you arrived in this great city. But it’s only now I’ve had the chance to et."
"So, you’re another Shapeshifter? Shapeler?"
Lann almost instantly understood who the newcor was.
Introducing through Geralt as an interdiary, knowing his whereabouts but leaving no impression... No need for a second guess.
"You are indeed as wise as the legends say."
Beside the Demon Hunter, Shapeler also calmly admitted.
"Don’t speak in that tone," Lann said calmly, "I’m not a king, no need to flatter so much."
The Sea Parrot’s promotion seems very effective; even today is just a rehearsal, yet many people still stread in, noisily settling on the benches.
This noise, like tavern chatter, could cover the conversations of the two nearby.
"Let guess..." Lann said with interest, "The Eternal Fire knows I’m in the city, even where I’ve been. Yet they’ve never sent anyone in charge to speak with ."
"That counts as ’hostility’, right?"
"This speculation is sowhat extre, Duke." Shapeler shook his head, "It’s just that Bishop Helvaart feels... he needs to be cautious in contacting you."
"Because I’m a Mutant as defined by the Eternal Fire’s doctrine?"
"..."
"You see, that’s ’hostility’. Or to phrase it lighter: caution."
Shapeler was silent for a mont but still defended, saying.
"It indeed relates to your identity, but the Eternal Fire’s doctrine is the foundation for the order’s establishnt, always caution with such matters."
After this sentence, Lann finally turned his face from watching the rehearsal stage to glance at Shapeler beside him.
A surprised glance.
"Wait... Did I hear you right? You’re defending the Eternal Fire? A Shapeshifter advocating for the Eternal Fire?"
But the naless soldier shapeshifted by Shapeler did not shy away from looking directly into Lann’s surprised eyes.
He didn’t speak, but the aning was clearly expressed.
"Wow..." Lann felt his brain was struggling a bit.
"Do you really... believe... in the Eternal Fire?!"
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