Kaer Morhen, the Lord's Hall.
Sol, Vera, Aristo, and Vesemir—who had been staying in Kaer Village below the mountain to maintain order amid the chaos and keep an eye on Lado and his men—had all returned, along with Danthe.
At this moment, they were seated on either side of the long table. A letter had been passed around the group, and finally came to rest in Aristo's hand.
"How are things in the village right now?" Sol, sitting at the head, asked.
Vesemir drew back his gaze from Aristo's face and reported: "Although the number of refugees is still increasing, things have basically stabilized."
"We built a simple wooden bridge over the Buina River, and also rented a few boats. At fixed times every day, apprentices escort groups of refugees across to the other side."
"Lord Mien of Lod has agreed to take in some of the refugees, and we've also contacted several northern Kaedweni nobles for the rest."
"No noble will ever refuse free labor," Danthe shrugged. "The northern reaches of Kaedwen, because of their climate, terrain, and poverty, have always lacked farmers, craftsmen, and skilled workers."
"The last war didn't reach the northern nobles, so their defenses remain intact. They're not worried about being overwhelmed by refugees."
"With just a bit of old grain and black bread harder than stone, they can trade for manpower—and they couldn't be happier."
The Kaedweni North had always been synonymous with barren land. Not only did its population drain away constantly, but it could never keep essential skilled workers like blacksmiths or tailors.
The war with Aedirn was a disaster for the southern Kaedweni nobles (south of the Gwenllech River), but for the northern nobles, it was a godsend.
And since Lado, who had suddenly ascended, lacked real authority, he hadn't secured the loyalty of the southern nobles yet.
The northern nobles had reluctantly "shown unity" by scraping together some soldiers, but they dawdled, gathered slowly, and before they could even cross the Gwenllech, they heard of the defeat—and all promptly went home.
Except for a few unlucky ones trampled by horses or wagon wheels on the march, there were almost no casualties.
Far from fearing hungry refugees, they actually welcomed them with open arms.
What's that?
You say the land in the north is barren, so why take in so many able-bodied folk with no land to farm?
Well, in this world, ambition isn't reserved for only Sunny or Demavend II.
Vesemir nodded.
"The nobles are indeed unusually enthusiastic. But the refugee tide already shows signs of slowing."
"Aedirn is tied up with internal strife in the south and can't move north for now. Many refugees who lost family members, or simply don't want to leave home, have already begun returning."
"The necrophages that followed in their wake—we've hunted down a fair number these last few days, so things should quiet down for a while."
"Erni and Klar are currently leading a few apprentices to maintain order in the village, keeping watch over the farmland to prevent desperate refugees from ruining it."
"Their strength has been improving rapidly. Even groups of three or five ordinary necrophages are no match for them now. As long as nothing 'unexpected' happens, rotating them like this should be enough for now."
Sol nodded, as if he hadn't noticed the deeper meaning hidden in Vesemir's tone.
Seeing this, Vesemir exchanged a helpless glance with Danthe.
"La—" Vesemir opened his mouth, about to bring up a certain troublesome figure holed up in Kaer Village that had become a thorn in everyone's side.
But at that moment, Aristo, the last to finish reading the letter, placed the smooth chiffon paper—soft as a maiden's skin—gently on the table, and remarked with a sigh: "It's rare to see those long-ea—elves, showing such humility. I thought they were born incapable of bowing their heads."
Vera shook her head softly.
"This letter was sent by Simlas Finn aep Dabairr."
"He's an outlier among the Mountain Folk—humble and reserved in ways no ordinary elf would ever be."
Sol clearly admired Simlas's conduct.
"If not for him, the Mountain Folk would have been wiped out entirely during the Aelirenn uprising…"
But Vera immediately countered: "Most Mountain Folk don't see it that way. They could have succeeded, without being forced to flee into the Blue Mountains."
"Simlas Finn aep Dabairr's retreat split them in two. What could have been a victory ended in total defeat for lack of fighting strength."
"And at the time, if the Aelirenn rebels had held out just two more years, Kaedwen's internal politics would have shifted after the death of the old king."
"The outcome was far from certain."
Vera had been a field sorceress during that uprising. Of everyone present, none knew the inside story of the Aelirenn rebellion better than she—not even Sol.
But…
"The Mountain Folk, even if they had won the Aelirenn Uprising and driven humans out of Kaedwen, it would have been useless. They were destined to lose." Sol sighed lightly.
Vera had no reply.
For the Mountain Folk, victory in the Aelirenn Uprising was possible, but as time went on they would still step by step fall into the abyss.
Perhaps as far back as four hundred years ago, when the Mountain Folk's last ruler in Toussaint ended his reign, and their final king, Divethaf, swore allegiance to Toussaint's first human king, Ludovic, their downfall had already been sealed.
Sooner or later—it made no difference.
Vesemir, Aristo, and Danthe exchanged glances as Sol and Vera suddenly started arguing.
How nostalgic… the three Wolf School witcher masters shared a look.
More than ten years ago, when the Wolf School's chief sorcerer quarreled with Sol over ideology and left, Vera had been invited to take over the work. Even back then, the two of them would break out into such debates from time to time.
This year, with their rare harmony, they had thought the two had changed. Turns out the time just hadn't come yet.
Or perhaps Allen's perilous Grass Trial and High Mountain Trial had left Sol and Vera with no energy to waste on such pointless arguments?
The thought crossed Vesemir's mind.
"Ahem…"
Aristo coughed twice, drawing everyone's attention.
"So, what should we do with this?" he pointed to the letter before him, glancing first at Sol, then at Vera.
The first to speak, however, was Vesemir: "First of all, we cannot let Allen know. I fear he might act on impulse and charge straight into the Free Elves' camp."
"That's not just a matter of whether the School's academy remains neutral or not. This isn't like those Ellander spirits that only need stalling for time."
"This is ten thousand soldiers, along with sorcerers, necromancers raising corpses, plagues, and a supernatural army."
"The impact of one person's strength in a war that scale is negligible."
"That's why you stopped me from informing Allen at the gate?" Danthe asked, somewhat puzzled. "But would Allen really be that reckless?"
"He's always seemed so calm and restrained—unlike any fourteen-year-old child I've ever seen."
Aristo, too, looked at Vesemir with doubt in his eyes.
Vesemir only rolled his eyes at Danthe: "If he were truly calm and restrained, would he have dragged you to force your way into Drakenborg?"
Danthe fell silent.
Though the result had been good, forcing their way into a fortress was still an incredibly reckless act.
Looking back now, he was astonished that he had even let Allen persuade him—and not only had they successfully rescued Bond, they had even abducted Drakenborg's steward, Evenson.
"Allen is a good child," Vesemir added, "but he is far too willing to risk himself for those close to him. He treats his own life far too lightly…"
At those words, Sol and Vera exchanged a glance.
"What is it?" Vesemir frowned, noticing something strange in their expressions.
Sol shook his head helplessly and looked to Vera.
Vera sighed softly. "It can't be hidden."
"Why not?" Vesemir, Danthe, and Aristo asked in puzzlement.
Allen was in Kaer Morhen, not on the frontlines at Ban Ard. As long as they said nothing, and the witchers guarding Kaer Village kept their mouths shut, Allen shouldn't receive any news.
"Mary told me," Vera pressed her hand to her forehead, "before Ida Emean left, Allen had already lent her one of his messenger birds."
"Perhaps out of courtesy, Ida Emean won't bypass Kaer Morhen to inform Allen directly, but sooner or later, he'll know."
Messenger birds… Vesemir exchanged glances with Aristo and Danthe.
"Allen has feelings for that elf, Francesca?" Danthe couldn't help but gossip.
The memory of that elf girl's eyes—entirely fixed on Allen when they had first returned—was still vivid. On that short walk, even with others present, she had nearly clung to him.
"Did Mary also give her messenger bird to Allen?" Danthe blurted out another question before anyone could respond.
"Shut up!"
Vesemir glared at him, making Danthe give an awkward laugh and look away from the complicated gazes around the table.
"It won't be because of personal feelings. Allen must have already anticipated the Free Elves' situation," Vesemir said with certainty.
No one understood Allen's feelings better—he was just a boy who looked mature on the surface but was still clueless when it came to matters of the heart.
Aristo cleared his throat twice, drawing everyone's attention.
"Simlas Finn aep Dabairr only hopes that after the Free Elves break through, the School can, under safe conditions, receive a group of them," he said.
"After all, we are allies. This request isn't excessive."
"But it can't be Allen," Vesemir cut in.
"Yes, it can't be Allen," Danthe agreed. "The situation in Kaer Village is mostly stabilized. Aristo, Vesemir, and I can go, but none of us can open a portal, so…"
He looked toward Vera.
Vera shook her head, then glanced at Sol. "No need for all of you. Sol and I can go."
Vera and Sol both going… Vesemir was about to nod in agreement, but then remembered the powder keg waiting in Kaer Village.
"What about Lado?" Vesemir brought it up himself. "It's been a week. He hasn't come up the mountain, nor has he left. Who knows what he's planning."
"But there are more and more suspicious faces appearing in Kaer Village."
"People with southern Kaedweni accents, Aedirnian accents—that's normal enough. But last night we even found a few secretly speaking in Redanian and Temerian accents."
He shrugged. "What next? Has Temeria gone to war with Redania? Or is Kaer Village suddenly Melitele's harvest ground, with tables of golden oak straight from Kreve?"
"Why is everyone from everywhere flocking to Kaer Morhen?"
"I suspect they're all sniffing around for Lado's whereabouts."
"If they find him, and a conflict breaks out, Kaer Morhen will inevitably be dragged into troublesome political whirlpools."
Danthe nodded in agreement. "I suspect Lado already knows. Lately, the agents he sends to procure supplies are getting bolder and bolder. He must be testing the School of the Wolf's attitude."
Sol tapped his fingers lightly on the table, fell silent for a few seconds, then said: "Allen will take care of it…"
"Sol!" Aristo interrupted angrily.
"I am not against Allen taking over as the head of the School of the Wolf. By the end of the year, I will do my best to persuade Whitelock, Valerius, Gregor, and Dylan to agree. Allen's strength, character, and past achievements are worthy of the position."
"But right now, you are still the Grandmaster of the School of the Wolf!"
The bearded witcher master grew more furious as he spoke, his beard trembling.
"This Kaer Morhen—our School of the Wolf—was built by us, brick by brick, wood by wood, from nothing to what it is today."
"So what if Allen becomes head of the School of the Wolf?!"
He slammed the table and stood abruptly, leaning forward to glare at the man he had once… no, for centuries, always admired, whose footsteps he had long followed.
"Just because of that ungrateful dog Henselt, just because the vessel of great achievements was shattered, you want to abandon Kaer Morhen, everything we built together?"
"Do you mean to run away like a cowardly deserter, to hide back in Toussaint?"
"Have you forgotten what you once told us?"
"We are witchers. Once we choose this path, we either die in battle with monsters, or we are buried at Kaer Morhen!"
His molten, gold-flecked cat eyes were wide, burning with blazing fury.
The suppressed growl in his throat shook the candle flames, making them flicker and shiver.
"Sol!"
"You're not dead yet!"
The furious roar turned Aristo into a wild beast, his hair bristling, eyes locked on Sol, as if he meant to rip off his skin, shatter his ribs, and tear out his heart—just to see if the heart of the once strong and indomitable dragonslayer had been replaced by that of a coward.
Vera's face remained expressionless, but beneath the table her hands clenched tightly, nails digging deep into her palms.
Sol did not avoid Aristo's hateful stare, though his ash-gray cat eyes flickered.
"Aristo…" On either side of him, Vesemir and Danthe tugged lightly at his clothes, pulling him back into his seat.
Aristo did not resist. With a heavy thud, he sat down, breathing in ragged, heaving gasps.
The candle flames wavered and danced in the darkness, wax tears dripping down the stand.
Aristo lowered his head, full of disappointment and helplessness.
"No matter how strong Allen is, he is still just a fourteen-year-old child."
"You cannot push everything onto him, Sol. You cannot. You cannot make him bear such a crushing burden."
"He… will be crushed…"
In an instant, silence fell over the great hall of Kaer Morhen's keep.
Sol opened his mouth, about to speak—
Knock… knock… knock…
The heavy doors of the hall resounded with a knock.
....
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