A person in American horror, wearing two versions of The Witcher

"Rad, can you make the decisions about this place? I'd like to make a deal with you."

After exchanging pleasantries, Roy called Rad to a corner and asked him a question.

The priest's reaction led Roy to decide to send him into the cave.

With these armored warriors present, vigilante justice would inevitably deepen their prejudice against witchers; as for salvation, this priest is not qualified, that newly graduated deacon is more suitable.

Therefore, it would be best to change our approach, such as by explicitly imposing severe penalties!

"Master, everyone here saw you carrying two werewolf leaders as rewards this morning, so no one wants to actually fight you. But if it's a trade, I'm not qualified, not even the lord's steward."

As Rad spoke, he turned slightly to the side and said:

"Did you see those armored warriors with gleaming armor, but followed by a group of farmers?"

"Those are the royal army troops sent to assist in defense. And nominally they are there to assist in defense, but in reality they are there to monitor the lord, recruit and train the local royal army, and ensure Velen's loyalty to the king. In other words, they can report things to the king."

"Take my advice, sir, just let that priest pay the reward and that's it."

Roy narrowed his eyes, took three Orensels from his purse, and handed them to Rad, saying:

"I also need you, Rad, to introduce me to that warlord who can make decisions."

"Sigh~" Rad sighed, but didn't sigh to Oren.

A moment later, he brought the young warlord, whose armor gleamed, to Roy's side, followed by three fully armored soldiers.

"I am Philip Strenger, captain of the Velen garrison and a Witcher's squire. I heard you have personal business with me?"

The military commander, with a protruding belly and arms crossed, spoke with displeasure. His not-yet-fully-grown sideburns stood out, giving him an imposing air.

However, Roy felt that he had come too quickly, as if out of curiosity and eagerness; and the unkempt beard on his face seemed to be something he had just grown to match his new status after being promoted.

In other words, he is outwardly fierce but inwardly weak, curious, somewhat ambitious, and putting on airs.

Of course, there is an extreme prerequisite for this judgment: Roy must recognize the name.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain Philip!"

The future Velen – the Bloody Baron!

The current garrison commander, after a while, simply led his troops to occupy the area!

Roy placed his hand on his chest, bowed slightly, and gave a Witcher's salute.

"This feeling is a little strange, but not bad. Tell me, squire, what do you intend to get from me?" Philip was quite pleased with Roy's bow.

"Sir, I'd like to ask you three questions first. After you've asked them, I think I can give you a chance to turn your life around," Roy said respectfully.

"Oh? So, besides killing monsters, you witchers can also sell hooks to help me turn the tables?" Philip laughed mockingly.

His armored soldiers also joked:

"I must say, apart from being a bit tall, her face and skin are much more delicate than the widow's in Crow's Nest. I'm sure some of my brothers would like that."

"I think he's not bad, he could be a gigolo..."

Snapped!

Geralt stomped on the wooden planks of the walkway, making them creak, and stood beside Roy, scanning the captain and the armored soldiers with his emotionless cat-like eyes.

The soldiers' playful laughter faltered, and one of them, who had sensitive skin, immediately gripped the hilt of his sword.

They had just seen the hideous werewolf head that morning, and now they were facing the cat's eyes that had killed the wolf king...

They only dare to talk nonsense when they're drunk!

"Ask your three questions, servant. Although I don't quite understand, this white-haired man seems more like a servant." Philip also stopped his mockery.

Geralt completely ignored Philip's provocations; he wasn't acting as a guard, but out of care!

Roy stepped forward, using his height, which made him taller than everyone else, to ask from above:

"My first question is, where does Velen fit within the entire Kingdom of Temeria?"

"Is that even a question?" Philip took a step back, his mockery masking his resentment. "This is the kingdom's doormat, a synonym for hardship and struggle. Otherwise, how could monsters like you, who collect bounties, have grown here?"

Then the armored soldiers also said:

"Wyllen... is all swamps, jungles, and no man's land, full of sons of bitches."

"Damn it, it's the only old patch on the otherwise splendid robes of the absolute kingdom."

"And it's not just a quagmire for ordinary people, it is a quagmire."

Roy raised an eyebrow and continued:

"Second question, what about you people who were sent to this quagmire from the capital?"

"You!" One of the armored soldiers drew his sword.

Philip raised his hand to stop him, his face turning cold as he said:

"An exile ground for officials, a penal colony for soldiers. Being sent here means you're unwelcome. Is that a satisfactory answer, you bastard!"

Roy nodded and said:

"The third question is, what do you think you need most to get out of this mess?"

"You've done a great service!"

"That means training your troops well!"

"That damned Lord Veserad has no respect for the king. He's either drunk in the morning or throwing some kind of banquet in the afternoon when he orders the leather armor and orens he'll provide… Look at what those newly recruited farmers are wearing! A pile of rags!"

The soldiers kept complaining, and Philip looked at Roy and said:

"Did you hear that? Witcher, it's money! Can you even help us solve the funding problem for our garrison?"

"Yes, I can handle it!" Roy leaned forward and looked down at him.

After he finished speaking, the soldiers were initially silent, and then... they burst into maniacal laughter, constantly spewing words like "bastard," "mutant," and "monster."

"Please, I don't know what you're laughing at. Are you laughing at my overestimation of my abilities, or at your pathetic fate of being destined to rot in this swamp!" Roy shouted.

"Damn it!"

"Bastard!"

Clang!

Angered shouts and the sound of swords being drawn rang out for a moment, but the laughter disappeared in an instant.

After all, Velen was so desolate that even pirates stopped coming; and these royal soldiers were so pathetic that they only came with weapons when the priest mentioned payment.

They might have to extort the pastor later to get anything.

So, who can still laugh while rolling in the mud?

"What kind of opportunity are you talking about, Witcher?" Philip asked in a deep voice.

Roy pointed to the Devil's Pit and the Salt Rock Cave behind him and said:

"A salt mine that we witchers have almost cleared out, ready to be mined again, providing a steady stream of funds for your garrison! A salt mine that produces salt!"

"Salt...salt mine?!" Philip's pupils suddenly contracted.

As a child from an ordinary family, he knew all too well what an ordinary person would definitely buy: salt!

But… he lowered his head slightly and asked in confusion:

"Master, isn't Velen a coastal city? Can this salt mine really make money?"

Mining requires manpower and resources, and if the cost of mining is lower than that of sea salt, he won't make a profit!

"Not all coastal areas can produce inexpensive sea salt," Geralt interjected, further explaining:

"The coastal countries further south have plenty of sunshine and high temperatures, so sea salt is easily dried out by the sun. But you know how awful Velen's weather is."

"It's damp and cold. The sunshine each day seems insufficient and short. It's going to snow in a few more days."

Philip immediately realized what was happening and called out:

"Rad, Rad, how is your sea salt produced here?"

"Logging trees, using the wood to make fires for cooking, what else can you produce?" Rad replied directly.

Philip's hands immediately began to tremble, and the gazes of the armored soldiers behind him also changed.

Sea salt production costs are not low, so salt rock mining can be profitable.

And a semi-mature salt mine...

"Master, I was a little too loud just now, I was wrong!"

"Master, I shouldn't have said those strange things. Actually, I'm the bastard. My mother has one-quarter elven blood."

"Master, is there anything else we can do for you in the salt cave? My sword is itching for blood!"

The soldiers kept changing their expressions, fawning over each other.

"Master!" Philip grabbed Roy's arm and exclaimed eagerly.

"Please feel free to give your instructions and plans."

They used to look down on witchers because they were mutants, but they wouldn't even touch them.

Roy smiled and said:

"It seems we have a common goal, and..."

"A common enemy!"

His gaze fell on the priest, who was still surrounded by soldiers.

Clang! Clang!

The armored soldier beside Philip immediately understood and drew his sword!

Because they also suddenly realized:

It seems that the Salt Rock Cave is currently owned!

Then let's kill the original owner!

That's a reward and money!