Mm. [ There seems a brief moment where Geralt will not answer the question, instead turning Alucard's assessment over in his mind. ] They say the infection can't be contained past two weeks regardless.

[ So it is what it is. The extra time would have made no difference here.

After a second, he digs into a nearby crate for an apple. He's been careful to watch what he eats and how much. Can a Witcher subsist on little if needed? They can. Is it enjoyable? Not nearly. He has an appetite fitting of a hunter bred for the winter mountains, and he currently regrets the inability to feed himself as he needs. It's a strange annoyance, perhaps, but Geralt is accustomed to self-sufficiency. Being reliant on another's food stores is not how he usually lives. ]

There was a coup. [ He huffs. Nothing fucking changes. Here they are again. ] I crossed paths with a mage. One I underestimated.