Although it was just an excuse to avoid the topic of the trinket gifted by Ciri, in the alchemy chamber Allen still spent great effort teaching Mary four potions—Full Moon (increases maximum vitality), Golden Oriole (grants immunity to poison and neutralizes toxins in the blood), Thunderbolt (boosts attack power), and White Raffard's Decoction (instantly restores a portion of vitality).
Distracting Mary was part of it, but the truth was that the witchers of the wolfpack did need to learn more potion formulas.
In fact, Drowner Pheromones (when consumed, Drowners will not attack the user for a certain period of time) was also a good choice.
But with its demanding Alchemy LV5 requirement, even Mary—who had long adapted to Allen's unique potion-making methods—found it difficult to learn in a short time.
"No good…"
In the cauldron, the clear blue liquid suddenly bubbled up into a blackened sphere, and the faint fishy odor quickly turned pungent and burnt.
Holding her breath in concentration, Mary let out a small sigh: "Drowner Pheromones are too difficult. Are you sure Erni and the others could really learn a method like this?"
She deftly poured away the ruined liquid and with a quick cleaning spell cleared the cauldron spotless.
"Practice makes perfect," Allen replied, selecting another set of dwarven spirit, drowner brain, Sewant Mushroom, and puffball, handing them to her. "The required mana is well within the capacity of a normal witcher—it doesn't exceed their limits."
"So in theory, every witcher could learn it."
"That's just theory," Mary rolled her eyes as she accepted the ingredients and began working on them skillfully. "In practice, out of seven witchers, maybe one or two could manage it… hmm… failed again…"
The stench rose once more; she expertly cleared the residue, reached out for more supplies, but came up empty-handed.
"Take a break…"
Allen gently patted her arm. "The technique isn't actually difficult—you just haven't yet caught the exact point of mana fusion in the liquid. Syncing it with your breathing rhythm will make it much easier."
"As if it's that simple!" Mary shot him a reproachful glance.
Still, she didn't insist on continuing. She obediently extinguished the flame beneath the cauldron and stretched lazily.
Lately, the girl—who had always worn simple robes—seemed to have learned how to dress herself up.
Black eyeliner, a touch of pink blush and lipstick, made her already youthful, pretty face even more radiant—like a rose blooming with morning dew.
Her green lace-trimmed, low-cut dress with a golden belt dazzled the eyes against her snow-pale skin.
Her chest, once modest, now showed signs of blossoming.
That stretch made it all the more noticeable.
Allen arched an eyebrow.
Her fair skin flushed crimson, curves trembling slightly, the attempt at allure almost clumsy.
The girl's awkward seduction?
"Don't rush. A few more tries and you'll manage," Allen said evenly, watching Mary lower her arms after holding the stretch for nearly ten seconds. "Other potions can wait, but Drowner Pheromones are too useful—witchers must learn them."
"If Hughes had learned Drowner Pheromones back then, he wouldn't have been so gravely injured."
Mary, failing in her attempt to charm him, quickly adjusted her mindset and agreed: "Drowner Pheromones really do pair well with Killer Whale. I'll master it soon and think of a way to teach them."
"Erni and the others are fortunate. These days, no alchemist makes potions specifically for witchers anymore."
In truth, there never really had been.
Looking back through history, it was only during the Hunter Order era that Alzur and Cosimo Malaspina showed any intent—and even then, most of it was for research, trading away a witcher's lifespan for combat strength.
To most sorcerers, witchers were undeniably expendable.
After Mary spoke, silence settled in the alchemy chamber.
Allen glanced around, then suddenly recalled the spirit of Ronnie Dickinson, the sorcerer of air he had encountered three or four days earlier, as well as the Breath-Song of the Maiden of Spring. With a thought, he cast an identification on Mary.
[Name: Margarita Laux-Antille]
[Attributes: Strength 19 (+8), Agility 12 (+3), Constitution 16 (+6), Perception 89 (+13), Mysticism 114 (+33)]
Compared to the last appraisal, Mary's attribute values had increased by a full sixty points.
Besides the ordinary monster heart extracts, there was also the twenty points of Mysticism from Ronnie Dickinson's Aeromancer spirit. But even without those, relying solely on her own talent and hard work, about one-third of the growth was hers alone.
Clearly, in the past half year, Mary hadn't been idle at all.
Allen noticed her delicate brows knitting slightly, as though she had sensed something, and her gaze swept the room. Without a word, Allen quietly closed the panel, inwardly marveling—Mary truly was different this time.
The last time he had appraised her, she hadn't felt anything at all.
"Yennefer still doesn't want to see anyone?" Allen tilted his head toward the depths of the alchemy chamber and asked softly.
He could clearly feel the gaze of someone watching—witcher senses made that easy. Yet even though he had been here for quite some time, the owner of that gaze hadn't come out to greet him.
Come to think of it, the last time he'd seen the little monster was five months ago.
"Mm." Mary followed Allen's line of sight with a pitiful glance toward the partition and lowered her voice. "Every young sorceress who cares about her appearance is like this. Once she's finished fully smoothing out the magic stored in her body, correcting her posture and features, she'll come out."
"You were like that too?" Allen asked curiously.
Mary shook her head. "I was born in Gors Velen. The Aretuza Academy is right across the bridge on Thanedd Island. When I was very young, before I had even shown magical talent, my father sent me to Aretuza…"
"Oh, you might not know this," she added.
"Aretuza, aside from being a sorceresses' academy, also teaches ordinary girls painting, etiquette, dance, and poetry…"
"Ordinary girls?" Allen cut her off with a laugh.
Painting, etiquette, dance, and poetry—those were things only the wealthy could afford.
Now that he thought about it, Allen realized Mary had never actually spoken much about her background. He only knew she came from Aretuza and would one day become the academy's rector.
"Don't interrupt me!" Mary scolded, glaring at him. But after a brief pause, she explained anyway: "Most of them are daughters of nobles and wealthy merchants from Gors Velen, though some come from Cidaris and western Temeria as well."
Allen didn't press further about whether she was of noble or merchant blood. With a name like Margarita Laux-Antille, he didn't need to ask—noble, obviously.
"When I was about seven, during an examination they discovered my magical talent. After that, I was transferred from the girls' school to the magic school. I had proper teachers guiding me in how to refine chaotic magic, so my growth wasn't twisted."
"But unfortunately, Yenne didn't. She not only lacked a mother, but also had a drunken father."
"Malnutrition and constant beatings let the chaotic magic twist and damage her body even more."
"These days Yenne has been working very hard to smooth out her magic. She should finish soon."
Allen nodded, then asked another question:
"The Songstone I gave you, and the Breath-Song of the Maiden of Spring—haven't they helped?"
"How could it be that fast?!" Mary pouted, lightly patting Allen's arm a few times. "It's only the fourth day. But I've already figured out some tricks. Give me two or three more weeks—no, one week—and I should be able to master it."
"But are you sure this really helps with refining chaotic magic?"
"Of course!" Allen replied firmly. "When have I ever lied to you?"
Mary didn't answer—she just stared at him with her big eyes until he started feeling a little guilty. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she asked casually: "By the way, Allen… a few days ago, after the Songstone and the Breath-Song of the Maiden of Spring, what exactly did you give me?"
"Secret." Allen didn't even bother making up an excuse, brushing it off with a word before asking curiously, "So, how do you feel?"
The moment he spoke, Mary straightened up, puffing out her chest with excitement.
"Allen, let me tell you—I'm amazing now!"
"Beginner spells, advanced spells, even master-level ones, and those forbidden spells the Brotherhood ordered us never to cast—they're all in my head."
"Next time we run into a griffin, I'll be able to pull it out of the sky all by myself!"
"Really that strong?" Allen raised a brow.
After all, the only reason he'd hunted the griffin so easily back then was because he had the unreasonable power of [Monster Hunt]. A griffin, even among large monsters, was one of the hardest to deal with.
"Of course!" Mary lifted her right hand eagerly, looking like she was about to show off a spell.
But as soon as she raised it, she remembered they were in Kaer Morhen, and it was already night. She let out a sheepish laugh, scratching her head.
"Tomorrow then. Tomorrow we'll find a place…"
Allen nodded.
Numbers were just numbers, but he was genuinely curious to see how much Mary's strength had grown after absorbing Ronnie Dickinson's air-element sorcerer spirit.
After all, in his plans, Mary was meant to be the sorceress core of the Witcher Corps.
The alchemy chamber suddenly fell into an inexplicable silence.
Outside, the sky above Kaer Morhen was already draped in a brilliant curtain of stars.
Inside, candlelight flickered, flames dancing across the girl's smooth, delicate skin. The orange-scented air blurred the view, soft and dreamlike.
It was getting late. Everything that needed to be taught had been taught, everything that needed to be said had been said.
Allen rose, ready to leave.
He had arranged to meet Vera during the day—around this time, he was supposed to talk with Vilgefortz about the letter that had led him to the Elder Blood.
"Then I'll—"
"So—"
Both spoke at once, breaking the stillness of the night.
Allen paused, then asked, "Do you still have something to say, Mary?"
"No, no…" Mary waved her hand instinctively—then met the witcher's deep blue eyes, so dark they seemed ready to drown her.
For some reason, an impulse welled up inside her.
She drew a deep breath and asked: "So, since my strength has already increased so much, can I come with you to rescue Hen Gedymdeith?"
Allen froze. "But I already have a sorceress—"
"I'll find a way to convince my mentor and Lady Tissaia de Vries," Mary cut him off quickly. "The conflict between Philippa and Lady Tissaia is intensifying. Lady Tissaia likely won't refuse…"
"Mary—"
"And besides—" Mary interrupted again, louder this time. "Besides!"
"The way I am now, I won't be worse than her!"
The gentle elegance usually written on her face was replaced by unyielding determination.
Allen fell silent for a long time, gazing into Mary's soft blue eyes—so similar in color to his own. At last he drew in a deep breath and said: "Tomorrow, Mary. Wait until tomorrow."
"Strength isn't proved with words."
With that, Allen stood. He lingered for a few seconds, unsure what else to say. In the end, he only gave a slight nod before heading straight out of the alchemy chamber.
Mary watched him leave, watched the chamber door open, then close.
She should have cleaned up—the messy worktable cluttered with leftover scraps, the scattered containers waiting to be sorted.
But she just sat there in a daze for a long time, not doing anything as usual.
"Are you alright, Sister Mary?" came a small voice beside her.
Mary froze for a moment, then gently shook her head.
"I'm fine, Yennefer. You go back and prepare first. I'll help you sort through your magic later."
"Oh…"
With that soft response, Yennefer, her face hidden under a black hood, looked back at Mary with every step, full of worry, before finally returning to her room.
Bang~
The door closed softly.
Mary only rose after a while and returned to her own chamber.
On the old oak desk lay a pile of parchment scrolls, engravings, and chiffon paper.
Most eye-catching among them was a book—its pages already wrinkled, edges curled, filled everywhere with traces of reading, even bearing marks of having been tossed about—titled How a Magical Lady Can Subtly 'Attract' Handsome Gentlemen.
The open page read—A magical lady must know how to dress herself. Lipstick, perfume, and skirts—the lower the neckline, the better—are the most powerful enchantments a magical lady can wield. But choosing and matching them is indeed a great art…
Bang~
The once best-selling golden-covered book of sorceresses, who knew how many times it had been lifted from the desk and smoothly thrown into the wooden basket beside it.
She sat down, resting her head on the small cleared space of the desk, tilting her face toward the window.
Outside, countless stars filled the sky. Above the dark mountain peaks, only a lonely crescent moon hung at the unreachable edge of the heavens.
"It's really so difficult…"
Someone let out a faint sigh in the endless night.
-----------------------------------
Leaving the alchemy chamber, Allen walked straight toward the northern tower.
That was where Kaer Morhen's "guest rooms" were—where Vilgefortz, Tissaia de Vries, and Lydia van Bredevoort all resided.
The closer he drew to the northern tower, the stronger that strange feeling grew in his chest.
At the same time, somewhere in an unknown place and time, the Child of the Elder Blood, Ciri, was rushing toward her destined battlefield—Stygga Castle—where she would fight Vilgefortz to the death. And yet, here he was, the so-called Child of Miracles, walking in reality toward the source of young magical power.
Knock Knock Knock~
A deep knocking sounded at the door.
.......
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