Geralt was Wright's adopted son, a well-known figure among the nobles. Having undergone the Trial of the Grasses, he now had a full head of white hair. Aside from recognizing people by their swords, no one would suspect who he was unless he introduced himself.
The further north the ship went, the colder the weather became. In White Harbor in the North, the sky was clear with the sun high in the sky. By the time they disembarked, Geralt had already put on a thick black fur coat over his chainmail.
"It's a good day!" Geralt squinted his eyes into a thin line, tightening the strap of his backpack as he jumped off the ship and headed toward the main castle.
Wizards had various ways to ward off the cold, especially destructive mages who loved to play with fire, who could spend an entire day in the freezing snow with nothing but their bare torsos. However, to maintain their status and bond with others, wizards generally still kept the habit of wearing thick clothing, except for the few who liked to show off their muscles.
The wide street was paved with large cobblestones, and the houses, walls, and castles were made of white stone. Except for the lack of green plants and red rooftops, it resembled the port city of Tyrosh.
Squeak, squeak. It was Geralt's first time stepping on the snow, and he was tempted to jump into the snowbank and frolic. But since there were people coming and going at the port, he decided to maintain his dignity. Instead, he bent down, grabbed a handful of snow, and played with it in his hand.
"Southerner! Need a guide? I know the best tavern in the city, the best inn, and the best women!" A man dressed in black approached Geralt from a nearby shop.
"I'm headed to House Manderly's castle, just over there. I don't need a guide," Geralt politely declined.
"Don't be too quick to refuse! After your business, you'll need to rest, and there's nothing young men like in the castle." The man in black continued to follow him.
These types of guides were common near ports, especially in Tyrosh. Geralt wasn't surprised. As long as you made your stance clear and ignored them, they would move on to find other customers soon enough.
As the man in black rambled on about the interesting stories of White Harbor, Geralt listened carefully but pretended not to care.
Soon, they reached the castle gate, but the man in black couldn't enter.
"After hearing all my stories, could you buy me a drink?" the man asked.
Geralt pulled out a silver stag from his pocket. It was the smallest coin he had, enough to get drunk at an ordinary tavern.
"You're generous, my lord! If you need anything, you can find me at the Lazy Eel Inn," the man bowed and left. "By the way, my name is Bronn."
Geralt watched him closely through the gap in his hood—black hair, black eyes, and a scruffy beard. His sharp face and fierce eyes seemed familiar. "I remember you. Are you a mercenary?"
"Haha, I'm a mercenary leader, with a small team. We can do any job. We may meet again, my lord," Bronn replied. In reality, he was a lone operator, only boasting about his team to impress others. Once a task came up, he would distribute it to other mercenary groups and take a commission for the introduction.
Geralt nodded. He would soon look for Bronn, who seemed to know White Harbor well.
He lifted his hand to touch the pendant on his chest. The one hidden beneath his clothes was vibrating. He looked toward the distant mage tower. A faint light was glowing from the detection array on the top, indicating it was still functioning. The people in the city seemed fine, so why was there a reaction from the undead?
Could it be that something was wrong with House Manderly?
Geralt's journey north was a personal matter. Some well-informed individuals from Tyrosh had found him and asked him to deliver letters to their friends and family in the North. He had not revealed his identity and only showed the Tyrosh Navy insignia to the guards, handing them the letters from his backpack.
"The closer we are to the castle, the weaker the response. It's not coming from inside the castle," Geralt took out the necklace from under his clothes and hung it around his neck. The pendant was a black Valyrian steel wolf head, identical to the one his father Robb wore, except for the wolf's eyes, which were set with two small rubies.
Geralt asked for directions in the city and soon found himself at the inn's front door after descending some stairs and passing a sheepskin warehouse.
There were no guards from House Manderly nearby, only a few rough-looking bouncers standing at the door. The noise from inside, a mix of men and women, could be heard even from outside.
"The Lazy Eel is a place for smugglers," Geralt chuckled. Dealing with these people was much easier than with the nobles—if you had enough muscle, you could get by just fine.
After tipping the bouncers, Geralt was led into the inn.
The cellar had been converted into a spacious inn, with blackened ceilings from the smoke. The air was thick with the smells of smoke, rotting meat, cheap perfume, and vomit. There were many dark corners around, with stacked barrels of alcohol forming private spaces. Several men and women were engaged in intense physical activity there.
As the door opened, a cold gust of wind rushed in.
"Boy, close the door quickly!"
"Do you know the rules here? If you come in and don't close the door, you have to buy a drink for everyone!"
"Southerner! Over here!"
Hearing the familiar voice, Geralt kicked the door panel back with his foot and walked towards Bronn. The door panel turned back just as he applied the right amount of force to close it.
Bronn and the other two were sitting at a broken wooden table, and there was an empty seat. Geralt took off his hood, and the three of them saw his pure white hair and strange eyes.
"Are you a mage?" asked the large man sitting across from Bronn.
"I am," Geralt said, sitting down, his two swords leaning to one side.
"Looks like you're a noble, with that Valyrian steel sword and jewelry. My name's Bronn, may I ask your name, young man?" Bronn, recognizing the quality of his items, became more formal. A wealthy fool had arrived.
"Geralt, Geralt of Tyrosh."
"So it's you!" The three at the table were all surprised.
In the Seven Kingdoms, even farmers could name the dragonriders and their dragons, and Geralt, as Wright's adopted son, though without a dragon, was still a renowned close-combat mage. His name was well known.
After killing a group of bandits during the big robbery at the Crane hill Bank at the age of twelve, Wright had knighted Geralt and gifted him a Valyrian steel sword, which Geralt named Sea Wraith.
"Is there anything I can help with?" Bronn placed his longsword on the table and rolled up his sleeves to reveal scars on his forearms, proving he was tough.
Having been raised under Oberyn's teachings, Geralt had seen all sorts of people. He gestured for the bartender to bring four of the best drinks, and once the drinks were placed on the table, he spoke.
"Is there anything unusual in White Harbor?"
"Unusual? Do furs count?" Bronn answered cautiously.
"You know I'm a mage, I'm just curious about magical matters." Geralt took a sip of the drink, his face changing immediately. The cheap alcohol was unbearable, and he nearly vomited onto the floor.
Bronn and the others exchanged glances, seizing the opportunity.
"Well, there is something, but it's very expensive, and you need a connection to get in," Bronn said, looking very hesitant.
Geralt took out a gold dragon from his pocket and placed it in front of Bronn. He had already figured out that Bronn was the one in charge of the three.
"A gold dragon can only buy one piece of information," Bronn said, pocketing the coin.
"You're really charging high prices!" Geralt remarked.
"No, no, you misunderstood. It's just that I can't afford to offend those people, so the price is high." Bronn took a sip of wine to soothe his throat, leaned forward, and lowered his voice. "I know a place where you can buy the alchemical material most favored by mages: Vampire Ash! If there's enough demand, you can even place an order and get as much as you want!"
Geralt noticed the large man across from him, who, upon hearing the word "vampire," clenched his cup tightly.
"Really? Vampires have been extinct on the continent for many years. The stock of Vampire Ash is dwindling, and the potions made from it, like powerful healing and mana potions, are selling for astronomical prices. And you're saying it can be bought easily?" Geralt asked.
Bronn pointed to the ceiling. "I swear on my gold dragon that what I'm saying is true. In that place, you can even spend the night with a seductive female vampire!"
Geralt shot him a sideways glance. "Have you tried it?"
"Haha, we poor mercenaries can't afford such luxuries. It's always the nobles and mages who go there. But I once had a job guarding a mage and got to visit the place. Those female vampires, some of them are taller than us men, with curves and stunning looks. One of them could fight for three days and nights without resting!" Bronn said, his face full of nostalgia.
Geralt pretended to be very interested. "Aren't they afraid of being bitten by vampires?"
"Afraid of what! Each female vampire wears a silver collar around her neck and limbs. I heard there's barbed wire inside, and if they try to transform, it will stab into their bodies. There are even special clothes designed for them. Those transparent veils hanging from the collars—truly seductive," Bronn continued, getting more excited.
At this point, Geralt understood. Someone was breeding vampires for profit!
Geralt hadn't experienced the vampire wars and didn't harbor hatred for vampires. He even felt a little pity for them.
At the Tyrosh Magic School, there was a vampire who had only the body left, producing a fixed amount of blood every day. In the castle's basement, there was also a beautiful red-haired female vampire. Geralt had even courted her, only to later find out that she was his uncle Jon's wife.
Jon and Ygritte only had one week a year together, which was when the female vampires could leave the castle and roam the city.
Now Geralt understood. The good female vampires weren't just for his uncle Jon and himself. All the powerful men on the continent were after them.
"Take me there," Geralt said.
"Heh." Bronn didn't answer, just smiled.
Geralt understood that White Harbor was full of cellars, and perhaps there were underground passages everywhere. Without someone guiding him, he wouldn't be able to find the entrance. He took out several golden dragons and placed them on the table. Only then did Bronn nod in agreement.
"Let me make it clear first, we are only responsible for leading you to the place, nothing else," Bronn said.
Geralt nodded, "That works. So, you three are officially hired by me. What are your names?"
"Sandor," the large man raised his head, revealing a disfigured left side of his face, ruined by burns. He never lied.
Sandor, who had become a vampire after Joffrey's betrayal of humanity, had left his old comrades in disgust. When he heard of Tywin's actions, he lost all faith in him. At the time, the war in the Riverlands was still ongoing, and returning meant Tywin might secretly execute him. He fled north and became a mercenary in White Harbor.
"Sandor Clegane of the Westerlands?" Geralt recalled reading about Sandor in a book on famous knights of the Seven Kingdoms, noting that he had been missing for years.
Sandor nodded.
"And you?" Geralt turned to the thin man sitting beside Sandor.
"Jaqen, an archer," the man said, patting the bow and quiver placed beside him on the chair.
Jaqen's gaze was unusual. Geralt extended his hand and cast a small detection spell. A magical circle appeared in his palm, and as he brought his hand near Jaqen, a faint white light shone from his chest.
"You have magical potential. Why not learn magic and become a mage? You could at least earn five times more in wages," Geralt thought, not recognizing this man.
Jaqen grinned. "Heh, I'm from Essos. Magic schools won't accept me."
Jaqen had once been a hired killer, but after a failed assassination attempt by Wright, he had to flee for his life. Though he didn't hold any grudge against Wright, he had been severely wounded by magic. Even paying for lessons from mages couldn't heal his soul. To survive, he turned to archery after his weapons made his hands tremble.
He had been secretly sent to Dorne for a series of assassinations and nearly lost his life on the return voyage. Only his early training kept him alive.
Geralt said, "Pick a time, and take me there as soon as possible."
"Tonight. We'll go change clothes first," Bronn said, signaling for Sandor and Jaqen to follow him.
"I'll wait for you at the tavern entrance," Geralt replied. When casting his magic earlier, he had discreetly applied alchemical substances to their clothing, which allowed him to sense their locations within a hundred-meter radius. He wasn't worried they'd back out after accepting the payment.
It didn't take long for the three to return, as agreed.
White Harbor was vast, and the four of them blended in with the ordinary citizens as they wandered around the city. As night fell, they arrived at a place known as Fish King Square.
"It's in this alley. There's a college there, but that's just a façade. The entrance is in the cellar beneath the kitchen," Bronn gestured towards the direction.
"Should I just go in and ask for the vampire ash? Is there some kind of secret code or something?" Geralt felt like things weren't as simple as they appeared.
Bronn pointed at Geralt's Valyrian steel sword hanging at his back. "Do you still need a code? Just take out the hilt and show it. They'll know you're a big customer."
"Then you all stay at the Lazy Eel and wait for me. I might need to find you again later," Geralt said, walking into the alley alone.
Watching Geralt's retreating figure, Sandor remarked, "To keep it a secret, do you think they'll kill him?"
Bronn pulled out three black hoods from his waist. "Follow me, I know another entrance. If things get violent inside, we'll rush in and save Geralt. We'll be rewarded more for saving his life!"