Chapter 1008: Chapter 990: Communication Studies

A group of people emerged from the small house temporarily rented by Shanni and Karkstan.

This time, not only did Shanni stand at the door to see them off, but even Karkstan was there waving.

Though everyone knew, the Alchemy Master was likely only waving at Lann.

"Honestly..." On the way back to Novigrad, Dandelion spoke with a strange expression.

"Even though I’m indeed the best poet in the world, it’s not the first time I’ve been ignored. But this time the neglect feels odd because I don’t even feel a bit angry."

Normally, on Dandelion’s outings and inspirations, it was common for him to encounter rough noblemen who showed no interest in poetry or literature and gave him no face.

After all, there are quite a few illiterate nobles in this world.

But in those cases, whether overtly or not, Dandelion would always harbor some sharp and sarcastic mockery towards such people in private.

However, just now, when Lann and Karkstan were discussing, they scarcely paid attention to these bystanders.

Yet he couldn’t get angry.

He even felt that interjecting between the two of them would be a bit... unaware of the situation.

This was respect for knowledge and wisdom.

Just like when two PhDs discuss an issue, even if they treat the listening primary school kid as air, the kid wouldn’t find it odd.

After all, he couldn’t join the conversation anyway.

Dandelion is a genius, a literary genius, otherwise, he wouldn’t have acquired seven liberal arts degrees from Osenford University at such a young age.

So he felt unfamiliar with this sensation.

Because usually, he holds a superior position in terms of knowledge and wisdom.

"Displaying force earns awe; mixed with bloodlust and cruelty, it can garner fear. But wisdom is different, my friend."

Lann said to Dandelion with a touch of self-satisfaction.

"Demonstrating wisdom tends to earn respect. The more cultured a person is, the more they’ll respect wisdom. It’s normal that you can’t control this, Dandelion."

The great poet’s face twisted.

Triss laughed, holding Lann’s arm as she walked, her laughter shaking her body.

Geralt earnestly nodded in front of Dandelion and ’comforted’ him with his hoarse voice.

"Impressive, Master Dan. Lann is praising you as a cultured person."

"Oh, well, thanks a lot," Dandelion replied sarcastically. "Watch out for the dog shit and chicken feather mix two steps ahead of you, Lann. This is a reminder from a cultured person out of respect."

"I will, thanks for the warning."

Lann’s hood politely nodded toward Dandelion, then he circumvented the dog shit in the middle of the road.

As they were not in a hurry, by the time they returned to Novigrad from the village outside, it was already noon.

They got a table in the corridor on the second floor of the Kingfisher Tavern, preparing to have lunch.

Of course, the expense was already covered by Triss.

For this, Dandelion referred to the female Warlock as ’the most generous beauty I’ve ever seen’.

The menu for lunch at the Kingfisher Tavern today included tuna, freshly bought by the owner from fishing boats at the harbor that morning.

It was well prepared into smoked fish sandwiches and fried fish chunks.

Triss and Lann sat on one side, while the minstrel, Geralt, and Rong Buqiu sat opposite them.

The two men squeezed the little cat in the middle, deliberately placing the food on a plate allowing the little cat, unable to reach the table, to eat.

From Triss’s perspective, she could only see the top of Rong Buqiu’s hood swaying.

"You mentioned to Karkstan this morning that you had a project you wanted to collaborate on with him."

Triss brushed back her red hair and scooped a spoonful of onion soup to her mouth but kept her eyes on Lann as she asked.

"Were you making polite conversation then, or do you really have some plan?"

Lann still hadn’t removed his hood and wasn’t planning to eat, merely resting his elbows on the table, watching his friends eat.

The Kingfisher Tavern is considered an upscale restaurant in Novigrad, with only three tables on the second-floor corridor, each spaced over two meters apart.

The solid wood tables paired with silk-covered long benches filled with cotton formed a set.

Downstairs in the hall were ordinary restaurant layouts with aligned long tables and small round stools, placed in several rows.

The noisy chatter, shouting after drinking, and even the minstrels playing instruments to liven up the atmosphere were all around.

All these noisy sounds served as a guarantee of privacy.

Everyone was shouting, so no one cared about what was said at other tables.

Lann’s hood nodded up and down.

"People like Karkstan and I, doers, wouldn’t say anything just out of politeness. Geralt."

Lann suddenly called out to the Old Demon Hunter, who was using a fork to separate the fish on his plate.

The White Wolf raised his eyes while chewing the food in his mouth. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

"How many people in this tavern are watching me?"

"Five people in the ground floor hall, the innermost table on the second floor, and someone has been going back and forth between the ground floor and the third floor, looking busy. I think he’s just trying to pass by the second floor a few more times."

Geralt said blandly.

The Demon Hunters, based on the neutrality principle established during the Order times, do not engage in politics, but their senses and training naturally make them better than seasoned spies.

After all, when completing commissions in the wild, the eyes of a shape-shifting spider lurking in the leaf piles are much more concealed than those of a spy.

But the number of shape-shifting spiders Geralt has killed is greater than the cows and sheep raised on a farm.

From the moment he sat down to eat, he had already observed many signs.

As soon as Geralt said these words at Lann’s request, Dandelion put down his fork and spoon, his eyes widening.

Triss was better than him, only somewhat surprised, while also becoming vigilant.

"Who are these people? What do they want to do?"

Knowing that someone was watching Lann, Triss’s voice turned cold.

However, the person involved seemed indifferent.

"Temple Guard members, spies of various houses mingled in Novigrad, even gang informants... the possibilities are endless."

Lann scratched his head through the hood.

"Even though I’m wearing a cloak, my stature is still a bit too noticeable."

The growth status controlled by genetic seed made his muscle width increase with his height.

This made him, although sitting on the same bench as Triss, appear like a tall and sturdy man compared to a short and thin person.

"I’m too conspicuous, and moreover..."

Lann, while speaking, nodded his chin towards Dandelion across the table.

"Dandelion, you’re the famous minstrel, you must have heard those stories about me?"

Speaking of his field of expertise, the poet’s face became serious.

"Yes, I also wanted to remind you of this."

"Lann, although the praises of your heroic deeds back then seem genuine to me, how can I put this? The spread of poems and stories under the current situation seems... abnormal! Do you understand?"

Dandelion picked up a napkin to wipe his mouth, and those two flamboyant mustaches on it, leaning his body forward, looking at his friend across the table.

"Geralt also told me last night, on your way to Novigrad, that a farmer and his daughter could recognize you at a glance. Is that possible? Isn’t that absurd?"

"So I suspect, Lann... someone, or several groups of people, are spending a lot of effort to spread your story. In a way that is not a typical minstrel industry dissemination process."

Dandelion seemed to have discovered an astonishing conspiracy, lowering his voice, wanting to tell this conspiracy to his friend.

As he spoke, his lively eyes darted around, as if sensing that every passerby might be a villain.

"You have to trust me, Lann. I’ve been in this business for a long time, what tricks haven’t I seen?"

"Whenever a group of people wants to create some effects or achieve some goals through public opinion, they can’t do without us."

"Remember the poem I wrote for you back then? The one called ’Noble Anger’. I actually finished writing it long ago, but when I saw the market situation was not right, I withheld it and haven’t publicly performed it yet."

"Had I released it, I would have ridden your wave and gotten rich long ago!"

Dandelion spoke with a bit of self-satisfaction.

He was confident in his poetry, in his view, those minstrels and playwrights who gained fame by telling stories of Lann’s mythical-like performance in the war were merely average.

They only rose because of a wave of traffic dividends; their abilities were utterly inadequate.

Once he appeared, these people would all have to retreat, barely able to make a living.

He was even somewhat enamored with the self-sacrifice.

After all, it was for Lann that he gave up the greatest traffic dividend on the continent in nearly a century.

Lann scratched his head again at Dandelion’s narcissism, but couldn’t help it; the man did indeed seem to have sacrificed for him.

So he could only say, "Thank you, Dandelion."

That’s the sentence the poet wanted to hear; the psychological satisfaction was much better than material satisfaction. He suddenly felt at ease.

But after expressing gratitude, Lann spoke to everyone at the table again.

"So... the current situation is actually not optimistic."

"No one dares to engage with me on a physical level for now, at least not until they are desperate or confident. But this sideways action has always existed and is showing signs of becoming increasingly serious."

"So what do you want to do?"

Triss looked worried, her hand resting on the back of Lann’s hand, her eyes fixed on him.

"Karkstan."

Lann uttered the name and lifted the corner of the cloak, placing part of the oversized cloak on the table.

"It’s hard to get illusion technique equipment that can constantly change appearances. Even if it’s in the hands of a warlock not proficient in illusions, it’s difficult to use, let alone a Demon Hunter."

"But I don’t necessarily have to use that. Nowadays, when I go out, I wear this garb; no one can clearly see my face, only my stature still stands out. But..."

"But?"

Geralt asked puzzled.

"But it’s merely a cloak. With not very intricate, yet somewhat peculiar alchemy, even an ordinary cloak can make the wearer appear tall and strong."

"And now, my fame is huge. As long as a well-known poet advertises something like, ’By wearing a special cloak, you can be as tall and burly as that hero’... how many people would be tempted to buy it and wear it?"

Geralt and Triss were still somewhat confused, but the poet who had been immersed in the ’communication science’ industry for over a decade gradually had eyes shining.