Michael Plymel
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The False Hero, Volume 12, Interlude 1
🕑 Added 2025-05-06 01:45:43 +0000 UTCInterlude 1
Geralt
“Looks good, smells good.” Geralt dips a kitchen spoon into the gravy that covers the slab of ham. “Gravy’s a little thin. Too much water, looks like.”
Next, Geralt uses the spoon to test the ham hidden by the gravy. “The outside’s too crispy. Flame was too hot when you cooked it. But I doubt the one who ordered it will notice or care. It’s still cooked better than most inn food.”
“Thank you!” The former orphan girl smiles in relief. “And I’ll keep getting better every day!”
“I’m glad to hear that because we need you and the other kids to run the Azure Springs Resort while we’re gone.”
“You mean when you go fight in that battle?” She sounds a little apprehensive just mentioning it.
“We owe Lutz for what he did for us, so what better way to pay him back than by fighting in a battle that will decide the fate of the world?” Geralt gets a distant look. “Besides, I should have been fighting the fiends the last five years already.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Responsibilities from my past life.” Geralt shakes his head. “Ones I abandoned.”
The orphans know that Geralt, Kalyn, Ina, and Devin were all slaves before being freed by Lutz, but none of the four ever share the details with the children. Everyone at the resort began their new lives the day Lutz hired them, so it only makes sense to leave the past behind.
“Let’s go deliver the dish before it gets cold.”
The young cook picks up the plate, along with a second one. “Okay! I hope he likes it!”
Geralt grabs a third plate going to the same table, then opens the door leading out of the kitchen. A large dining room appears on the other side, with many of the tables filled with customers, despite it not being the busy part of the day.
Not long ago, they only had three tables for the hotspring guests who want a bite to eat, but their popularity has steadily grown over the months, forcing them to expand the resort building and the size of the hotspring itself. Several times, in fact.
Now, the kitchen and dining room have been completely rebuilt, allowing for better food and more hungry patrons to enjoy their meals.
With the kids dedicating their efforts toward specific roles at the resort, they’re starting to become completely self-sufficient. But there’s still a need to keep up with their training, which is why Geralt is helping the girl deliver the food.
After all, there are rare circumstances she may need help solving, such as if the customer becomes argumentative.
“Here are your meals, sirs!” She places the plate of ham and gravy down onto the table, along with the second one she carried from the kitchen.
“Hey, now.” He pulls the plate to him and gives it a whiff. “This grub might actually be good.”
“It is! I cooked it myself!”
“You’ve been trained well, then. I’d bet that–” The customer cuts his words when he sees who’s standing next to the cooking girl.
Geralt is silently looking down at the man, a plate of food still in his hand. It’s been five years, but he’d never forget the face of a man from his own squad, back when he was in the Orakian army.
“Geralt?” The customer is the first to speak up. “That’s you, ain’t it?”
“Yeah, Dain.” Geralt says, more softly than his usual tone. “It’s me.”
“How’d you get here? Did the owners of this hotspring place buy you?”
“Nobody bought me.”
“What ya mean nobody bought you? Last I heard, you were sentenced to a life of slavery.” Dain makes a point of looking at Geralt’s neck, at the back of which should be a slave seal. “You’re still a slave, aren’t you, Geralt?”
The two share another moment of silence.
But before either of them can speak up, someone else breaks the tension.
“Hold on,” one of Dain’s companions says. “They say the resort has four owners, all strong adventurers. The rest are children. So if he’s training that girl, then…”
“Then that means Geralt is one of the owners.” Dain catches on to what the man is saying, which causes a smile to form on his lips. “And it’s a mighty nice place you have here, Geralt. Mighty nice, indeed.”
“I’m proud of it.”
“I bet ya are. Spending all day at a resort like this, and you must be making plenty of coin, huh?” Dain eyes Geralt’s nice outfit, one which most people wouldn’t dream of wearing at their job. “Not a bad life for a traitor like you.”
More silence. Although Geralt and Dain weren’t enemies during their time in their squad, only one of them had deserted the army when the fiends arrived.
“Hey.” Dain’s second companion taps the table with his finger. “You can argue after I get my food.”
“My apologies.” Geralt finally places the plate down in front of the man.
“Why don’t you join us?” Dain asks. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, right? If the girl can cook this good, then she’ll be alright for a while without you.”
“You can go on,” Geralt says to the girl. “Get it ready for the next order.”
“A-alright.” She spares one last look between the two men before leaving.
His two companions have already started eating, but Dain himself hasn’t touched his ham, despite having picked up a knife.
“Well,” Dain says. “Have a seat, would ya? I wanna talk to you about a … let’s call it a business deal, yeah? I heard this place loves to make deals, even with the elves.”
“And what kind of deal did you have in mind?”
Dain looks a bit annoyed that Geralt is still standing, but he covers it up by cutting his first slice of ham and taking a bite. “Really is good stuff. No wonder everyone recommended this place when we were coming through. Didn’t know the head cook was my old pal, turned deserter. You really should have let us know about your good fortune, Geralt.”
“My old life is gone, Dain, ever since I came here.”
“How convenient, don’t you think? Then again, we all know how good you are at running away when things get tough.” Dain takes another bite. “So how’d you do it? Your master die? Found a way to remove the slave seal after, I’d bet. Takes a lot of coin, that. Makes me wonder, just how did you end up owning a busy resort like this, anyway?”
“I don’t think you’d believe me, if I told you the truth.”
He points his knife at the empty seat again. “Start from the beginning, and we’ll see.”
Even though Lutz’s identity isn’t a secret anymore, the capital city of Roshar is far to the west. Most of the people on the eastern side of the kingdom still have no idea about the three heroes being labeled as traitors, with the False Hero taking their place.
Rumors have begun to spread, but there hasn’t been any concerted effort to make it publicly known that Lutz is the real owner of the resort. There’s a chance the hotspring could become a target by fanatics who don’t believe the news of Lutz becoming humanity’s champion, so everyone thought it best to just lay low until the war ends.
“Sorry Dain, but I won’t be taking a seat.”
“Listen, Geralt. You and I both know what would happen if news of your desertion got out. If you’re lucky, they’ll just make you a slave again. If not … well, maybe you’ll end up fighting those fiends you ran from all those years ago.”
“You’re right, I did run away. And I paid the price for that decision these past five years, being bought and sold as a slave.” Geralt shakes his head. “Whether or not I deserve it, I’ve had that past washed away by someone. Even if you call for my arrest, I would be released when the local lord got word.”
“Hah!” Dain slices up another piece of ham, unphased. “Didn’t know you got so good at telling tales. Maybe you should be the resort bard instead of the cook.”
“I said you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Then try a more likely story. Even the noble in charge of the province can’t pardon desertion. Only the crown can. And you expect me to believe King Edgar did it just for you? He probably thinks higher of the crust on his latrine than some low rank deserter who ran when the fiends showed up.”
“As ridiculous as it sounds, it’s the truth. It would save the both of us a lot of trouble if you just went on your way after your meal.”
“And let the feast get away? After we make our deal, I’ll be eating fine meals like this every single day.” Dain knocks his left hand on the table, making a deep thud that sounds nothing like a normal hand of flesh. “I didn’t run, and I still paid a price. Never know how much you use your hands until you lose one. I think it’s only right a deserter help out a companion who gave part of his body fighting fiends, don’t you?”
Geralt eyes the wooden hand holding a fork in a clearly practiced way. “I’m surprised they discharged you instead of reassigning you.”
“Grease the right palm, and you can make a lot of things happen.” Dain opens his flesh and blood hand. “Keep mine greased, and you don’t have to worry about anyone finding out who you really are.”
Geralt goes silent once again. As soon as he saw Dain sitting at the table, he knew things would get complicated.
The province lord, Marquis Frans, has been told by royal missive that the Azure Springs Resort and the staff who run it are completely off-limits, but he was never told why. That essentially gives Geralt a get out of jail free card, but he would have to go through a lot of trouble to use it.
Just as Geralt is getting stuck on how to deal with the situation, a figure blocks the light of the resort’s open doorway. Many patrons walk in throughout the day, but Geralt often finds his eyes drawn to them when they enter. It’s good to spot troublemakers before they can cause problems.
Often, there’s an even better way to tell if a person is dangerous. People strong enough to start fights in a place like the resort would need to have the strength to back it up. With [Sense Mana], it’s possible to pick out the high level people before they even step food inside the building.
But Geralt has been so focused on dealing with Dain that he hasn’t been checking mana presences. If he had, then he wouldn’t be showing such surprise on his face at the moment.
Because the one who just walked through the door is…
“Hey, Geralt.” Lutz walks over to the table like he owns the place. Because he does.
“Lutz? What are you doing here? There’s still half an hour before we leave, isn’t there?”
“Yeah, but the ceremony didn’t take as long as I thought. And I finished crafting my new weapons and armor like I was going for a new speedrun record. Since I had some free time, I figured I’d come by early and get something to eat before we go.”
“If it’s food, then of course we’ll get it ready right away. But right now, I’m a little busy with something…”
Lutz looks at the table, correctly identifying Dain as the subject of Geralt’s business. But he doesn’t say anything to the one-handed former soldier. Or rather, he doesn’t have to because Dain speaks up first.
“Who’s the kid? Another one of the owners?” Dain looks Lutz up and down. “Guess that rumor about all the owners being strong adventurers ain’t quite right.”
“A friend of yours, huh Geralt?” Lutz doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about the man’s hostile tone.
“You might want to think about being a little nicer to me, kid.” Dain takes another bite of ham, chewing as he continues talking. “I know your secrets.”
“I doubt you know all of them, else you’d be the one trying to be a little nicer.”
“Hah.” Dain waves the wooden hand at Lutz, the fork still held in its grasp. “My fee just went up. Keep going, and I’ll raise it again.”
“Fee?” Lutz rubs his chin. “Missing hand, high level, scars. I took you for an adventurer, but that’s not right is it? You’re a soldier, which means the secret you know is…”
“Your friend here, Geralt, deserted the army and got a life sentence as a slave. If the province lord were to hear that you’re in business with him, who knows what would happen to you or your resort.” Dain slices up another piece of pork. “If you apologize now, maybe I’ll even give you a discount.”
“I’m starting to see where the problem is.”
“If you wanna fix it.” Dain holds out the palm of his good hand. “It’ll take a little grease.”
“I’ve got something better than grease.” Lutz holds up his hand, and a piece of parchment appears in it. “It’ll solve everyone’s problem in an instant.”
His other hand holds a quill, and he uses the dining table as a writing surface while the three men are eating. He finishes quickly, raising the parchment up for Geralt to read.
“‘I hereby pardon Geralt of all crimes, past and present. Signed, Lutz.’”
The author nods at hearing his writings read aloud. “And there we go, problem solved.”
“Like hell it is!” Dain clearly disagrees with Lutz’s methods. “You can’t just write whatever you want and expect people to give a damn! Only the king can pardon deserters, not some kid who owns a stinkin’ resort!”
“Normally, that may be the case. But King Edgar himself gave me the authority to conscript anyone I need, no matter their race, kingdom of origin, or even criminal status. So the moment I decided to bring Geralt to the final battle against Chaos, he became untouchable, even to the Orakian army.”
“I’ve stepped in manure filled with less bullshit than you. Tell ya what. You got ‘til I’m done with my ham. If you don’t come to your senses by then, I’ll get the guards to knock some into ya.”
Dain takes another bite while staring at Lutz and Geralt, as if to show just how serious he is about getting his piece of the resort pie.
“What are we going to do about this?” Geralt asks.
“Eh, it’s not that big of a problem,” Lutz shrugs it off. “I’ve just gotta make a quick phone call.”
Both Geralt and Dain, who has been listening intently, twist their expressions in confusion.
“What’s a phone?” Dain asks around a mouthful of gravy.
“Don’t you worry about that. You just enjoy that delicious-smelling ham.” Lutz stands in silence for several seconds. “And done. Geralt, we’ll take that table.”
Geralt follows Lutz’s finger. “The corner one? Alright, but are you expecting company?”
“Yeah, you. If you’ve already eaten, then you can just get something to drink. Oh, there will be more people coming, though. They’ll be here in just a minute.”
The young cooking girl comes out of the kitchen, carrying a plate. When she sees Lutz, she tries to greet him, but both her hands are full so she just ends up nodding awkwardly as she rushes the order to the customer.
The corner table has four chairs, with two having walls at their backs. It’s in the corner of the room, after all. Knowing who’s coming, Lutz chose the table that they would have likely picked, if given the chance.
“We’ll take these two.” Lutz points to two of the chairs. “The two guests will get the chairs that have a wall behind them.”
“That’s not a problem. But who’s coming?”
“The one person that even Dain can’t argue against.”
“You don’t mean–” Geralt goes silent when a shadow darkens the resort doorway.
The one entering carries a blade on his waist that’s clearly magnitudes better than one carried by an average adventurer. His keen eyes and focused expression give away his battle prowess just as well as a demonstration with his weapon could ever do.
But Geralt doesn’t need context clues to know how powerful the warrior is. He’s met him before, and seeing him here only confirms his initial suspicions.
“Who’s that?” one of Dain’s companions asks while watching the new group enter the resort. “Not the warrior. I mean the one behind, dressed in all those fancy clothes.”
“Never seen him around here. I don’t think he’s the marquis. Fancy merchant, maybe?”
“Never seen a merchant wearing clothes like that. Gotta be a noble.”
The newcomers spot Lutz and Geralt, then head toward them without missing a beat. One is stomping a little more than the others, though.
“...can’t be…!” Dain’s barely audible voice catches his companions' attention.
“Can’t be what?” one of them asks.
“It’s him…!” Dain’s face quickly drains of color. “By the hells, it’s actually him!”
“I’m asking who!”
“Fool! It’s His Majesty, King Edgar!”
Dain has already dropped his head as the king walks just a few paces from him. His two bodyguards have already singled him out as a potential threat, so dropping his gaze is as much to escape their glares as it is to show respect to the king.
Yet despite the two menacing men flanking the king, the one who makes Dain’s spine tingle the most is a petite young woman dressed as an attendant. She’s bringing up the rear, walking behind a young blonde girl in a dress only fit for a princess.
“You better have a good reason to request my presence here.” King Edgar starts with a comment that clearly stems from annoyance.
Lutz meets him halfway between the corner table and the one where Dain is sitting. The one-handed man in question is clearly distressed at having the royal family standing just a few paces from him.
“I thought it’d be fun to have lunch together and enjoy a little time at the Azure Springs Resort!” Lutz speaks as if he were advertising his business. “Is what I’d normally say, but there is a tiny problem to solve first.”
Edgar looks to Dain’s table. “What would that be?”
“Just the fact that Geralt got recognized as a former lifelong slave by someone who used to be in your army. He wants to blackmail him to keep his secret, but since we declined his kind offer, he plans to have him arrested. I figured what better way to solve the issue than to get you to officially recognize my pardon.”
“Your … pardon?” Edgar looks less than amused.
“Read it again.”
Geralt reluctantly raises up the parchment. “‘I hereby pardon Geralt of all crimes, past and present. Signed, Lutz.’”
King Edgar’s head slowly turns back to Lutz. “I’ll probably regret asking, but where in the blazes did you get the idea that you have pardoning powers?”
“From you. You said I could recruit whoever I wanted, regardless of race, kingdom of origin, or criminal status!” Lutz stands proud.
“I knew I should have been clearer.” Edgar shakes his head. “From now on, speak to me before exercising any of these perceived powers you love to grant yourself.”
“Haha…” Lutz still looks proud.
King Edgar holds his hand out to Geralt. Having only one thing in his grasp, Geralt hands over the parchment where Lutz wrote the pardon.
A quill appears in the king’s hand, already inked. Bearing down on a nearby table, he makes a simple stroke across the paper. When he’s done, he holds it up for all to see.
“Now it’s official.” Edgar makes sure that Dain sees it, too.
Lutz’s signature is simply marked out, while Edgar’s is written below it. Chances are, it’s the most ridiculous pardon ever signed in Orakio’s history, but it’s still as good as any other.
“Now,” Edgar says. “Blackmail is a serious crime. Maybe I should hear the rest of the details, as well.”
Dain looks like he wants to melt right into the table.
Lutz shrugs. “I’ll leave all of that to you. As for me, I’m hungry.”
The people in the resort’s admissions and dining area have completely stopped. That’s the natural reaction when the king himself walks in without warning.
But they can’t eat if everyone just stands there staring.
“Oh, hey.” Lutz waves to the young cook who’s training under Geralt. “How about taking our orders? Geralt’s eating with us, so do you think you can handle it alone?”
“Umm!” She comes over in a rush. “I-I’ve been cooking most of the food myself now, so…!”
“You made all these delicious-looking dishes? That’s amazing!” Lutz looks to Edgar. “Don’t you think so?”
The king makes a show of checking out the food sitting on Dain and his companion’s plates. “If my meal tastes as good as their smells, then perhaps I should offer her a position in my own kitchen.”
“Eh!? I’m not that good, or anything…!” She begins to fret.
“Trying to scalp my employees, are ya? How shrewd.”
Lutz, Edgar, Geralt, and Lumina all take their designated seats at the corner table. Of course, the two royals have their backs to the wall, meaning their guards don’t have to worry about protecting them from threats in that direction.
While Lutz would have gotten a fifth seat for Elise, he knew she would rather act as Lumina’s bodyguard during times like this. He’s not surprised to see her standing diagonally behind her chair, mimicking the two royal guards who protect Edgar.
“Now, then.” Lutz gets comfortable in his chair. “What should I order this time?”
Comments
Michael Plymel
You're welcome! Hope you enjoyed it~
joel southard
Thank you for the chapter
