Dicoscher's Gift

Chapter 79 Dicoscher's Gift

The stench of blood hadn't yet dissipated from the front porch when Dicoscher had already taken the lead and headed into the bathhouse.

Harbin silently gestured behind him, and several silent servants immediately began to drag away the body and wash the ground. The smell of blood was quickly masked by the scent of herbs and essential oils.

At the end of the corridor was a carved oak door. Dicoscher pushed the door open. The study was not large, with bookshelves lining the walls, each shelf crammed full. Inside, there was a heavy desk with several briefings and an aerial view of Novigrad spread out on its surface.

Dixter walked to the chair and sat down, his massive body pressing down on the chair back with a groan. Ron leaned against the door frame, his gaze sweeping over Dixter's face.

Dicoscher picked up a tin jug, poured himself a glass, and began to speak, his tone tinged with sarcasm and confusion.

"I can't believe I'm actually welcoming that bastard who broke my leg. Since then, I've taken to baths at least five times a day, sometimes six. My bones ache whenever it's cloudy."

Geralt stood by the desk and replied curtly, "I'm sorry, but if this makes you love cleanliness, then the price is acceptable."

"Loves cleanliness?" Dicoscher glanced up at him. "Bullshit about cleanliness, that's a fucking disability."

"I did it for a reason. If you hadn't intervened, I wouldn't have broken your leg."

"Hmm..." Dikoscher leaned back in his chair, his eyes filled with complex emotions. "Ha, what you're saying makes me regretful. I should have just ordered the soldiers to kill you instead of tying you up back then."

Geralt didn't answer. Dixter picked up his glass and took a sip. "Tell me, Witcher, what brings you here? It's not just to catch up, is it?"

Do you know Dandelion's whereabouts?

A sarcastic smile crept across Dijkstra's lips. "Dandelion? He's got nothing but a piece of trash for offending Hawthorne II."

"What do you mean?" Geralt asked.

Dicoscher put down his glass and gestured in the air with his finger: "In a comfortable and clean place, surrounded by beautiful women, with Toussaint wine on my lips and the music of artists in my ears."

He lowered his hand, his tone indifferent. "Please, what else can he do? Probably rotting away on the Pontal River with his mandolin."

"Lute," Geralt corrected.

Dicos paused for a moment, then waved his hand. "It doesn't matter. Even if he sinks into the river along with a loudspeaker, it has nothing to do with me."

Ron leaned against the doorframe, a slight smile playing on his lips, but he didn't say a word.

"Did Dandelion offend you?" Geralt asked.

Dicoscher's expression suddenly turned serious, and he spoke in a solemn and steady manner.

"Offended me? Of course! The second line of his sonnets uses a parallel structure instead of alternating rhyme, you know? For a devout poetry lover like me, this is an unforgivable blasphemy!"

There was a moment of silence in the room. Geralt stared at him expressionlessly. "Ha—ha—ha, that's hilarious."

Dikoscher's lips curled downwards slightly before he changed the subject. "Machete has already stormed off to wreak hawthorne's place, why didn't you go with him?"

"Do you really think this method will lead to Hawthorne?"

After a brief silence, Dijkstra tapped the table lightly and nodded.

"My safe has been robbed. Help me investigate, and in exchange, I'll find out the information you want."

"Can"

Dixter straightened up, about to call Harbin in, when Ron turned to Geralt, "Finished talking? Aren't you going to introduce this gentleman? I didn't know you two were old acquaintances."

Geralt tilted his head toward Dijkstra. "Sigismund Dijkstra, former head of Redanian military intelligence, now a bathhouse owner and underground gangster."

Dixter turned his gaze to Ron, a hint of interest in his eyes. "Geralt, go wait next door for a moment. Harbin will make the arrangements for you. I need to have a good chat with this man; I'm quite curious about him."

Geralt glanced at Ron, who nodded in return. Only Dixter and Ron remained in the study. "It seems our former Redanian intelligence chief knows quite a bit about me. Why don't you tell me?"

"Oh, is this a test for me? I can only say that I am aware of your grudges with the Merchants' Guild and Radovid's coercion of you. I knew the details as soon as his messenger left the Cowburg."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "So, how do you plan to use this information?"

"Well," Dixter paused meaningfully, "we can talk about that later. Nice to meet you, I have a gift for you."

A moment later, footsteps sounded outside the door. Habin pushed the door open and came in, followed by two burly thugs who were escorting a man with a black cloth bag over his head.

The black cloth was soaked with sweat and clung to his face, revealing gray stubble peeking out from the edges. He was pushed into the study and stood in front of Dixter's desk.

Dicoscher walked around the desk, grabbed the black cloth bag, and yanked it off, revealing a middle-aged man with glasses and a stubble.

His cheeks were sunken, his collar was blackened, and his eyes blinked rapidly to adjust to the light. His gaze first fell on Dixcher, then turned to Ron by the bookshelf, his pupils suddenly contracting.

"Who is this?"

Dikoscher turned to face Ron. "Tawa Egbrager, former quartermaster of the Nilfgaardian Central Army."

Tawa's legs trembled slightly, and his lips moved but no sound came out. Ron did not respond, silently watching Tawa, a tool that had been squeezed dry and then thrown away.

Dikoscher gestured with his thumb toward Tawa. "The poor bastard thinks no one's chasing him because he's fast enough, but actually nobody wants to bother chasing a cleanly gnawed bone."

However, he also had a lot of information about the Merchants' Guild's network of contacts and smuggling routes in his mind, and my men spent several days prying these things out bit by bit.

Ron said nothing, turning his gaze from Tawa to Dicoscher.

Are you satisfied with this gift?

Ron's voice was devoid of any extra emotion. "Very good, he's still alive. My Sergeant Miko must be eager to see him."

Dijkstra nodded, as if this answer was expected. "His business is finished. Now let's talk about our business."

"you say"

"The Merchants' Guild's influence in Novigrad is deeper than you think. They personally supported several councilors in the city hall, and they have properties all over the city. The third shop next door to the tavern you just bought belongs to them. They will find out about you sooner or later, and your tavern will be the first one they target."

Dicos paused for a moment, then said, "You need someone to hold them off for you, and I can be that person."

"condition?"

"Intelligence and military force: your influence in Velen covers most of the area. With your cooperation, my people can carry out operations smoothly. At the same time, there are always some guys in the city who are hindering my business. If necessary, you can help me clean them up. After all, I am an intelligence officer, and my men are definitely not as professional as your army."

Ron was silent for a moment. "Waleren's intelligence... You're investigating the Nilfgaardian frontline troops? Who are you gathering this intelligence for?"

Dikoscher's lips curled up slightly. "For my own sake, I need to know when Nilfgaard will make its move, and how long Radovid can hold out. The answers to these questions will determine my plans in Novigrad. I hold the wealth of half of Novigrad's elites on my behalf, and if the war situation changes, this money needs to be transferred to a safe place as quickly as possible."

Ron's hand paused on the hilt of his sword. "Deal. In exchange, you must inform me immediately of any movements of the Merchants' Guild."