It was a messenger bird.
A crystal-clear bird descended from the night sky, landing gently on the witcher's shoulder.
He hadn't yet decided whether to contact Francesca, yet that reckless mountain folk girl had already sent him a message first.
The witcher lifted his head, glancing at the dim-green sky.
Clouds swallowed the moonlight, and judging by the distance between Kaer Morhen and Ban Ard, the bird must've barely returned to Francesca's hand before she sent it flying back.
"At a time like this, instead of brewing more Specter Oil, she sends a message?"
"Is it gratitude… or a plea for help?"
Allen cast a glance at the endless sea of undead wandering just beyond the tree shade, then lowered his gaze to the crystalline bird pecking gently at his thumb, urging him to listen.
He raised his right hand and let the bird's glassy beak rest against his forehead.
In the next second—
Francesca Findabair's cool, melodic voice echoed in his mind.
[Thank you, Allen.]
[I've received the formula for the Specter Oil. It works wonderfully. The wraiths that were blocking the camp gates have already been slain by the swordsmen who applied your oil.]
"So soon…" Allen blinked, a little surprised.
He had underestimated the alchemical prowess and potion reserves of the mountain folk.
Then again, they had once ruled nearly the entire world.
It wasn't strange that they still had a few master alchemists or unique methods hidden among them.
[After the wraiths were destroyed, the monsters blocking the mountain passes fell in droves before the swordsmanship and archery of our warriors.]
[Sadia and Lady Ida Emean have found a way not only to cure the plague completely but also to ensure our fallen are not defiled by necromantic arts.]
[Those vile warlocks of Ban Ard never expected that turning living people into ravenous beasts—defying every taboo—would backfire so spectacularly. Once their weaknesses were found, they became easier to guide… and easier to kill.]
[The mountain folk struck with full force and have already wiped out more than half of the warlocks' abominations.]
"More than half…"
Allen frowned, pressing his boot lightly against a tree branch before leaping to the top of the oak.
From that high vantage, his cat-like eyes swept across the forest below—withered trees shrouded in black mist, filled only with the shrill, guttural cries of the undead.
Nothing else moved.
The land was deathly still, as if no living creature remained in this decaying forest.
As for the fierce battles Francesca had described—he saw nothing of the sort.
Even the undead were wandering aimlessly, without any clear direction.
"Am I too far from the Free Elves' camp?" Allen murmured, puzzled. "Why is it so quiet here?"
No answer came, but the crystal bird on his finger continued to transmit the message.
[It won't be long before we drive those madmen—those defilers of life—from our only remaining home.]
[But Simlas—my father—told me that even after we banish them, the mountain folk can no longer remain here.]
[The jackals of Ban Ard will not relent. They will seize every chance to return, greedier than before.]
[The mountain folk have never feared death, but our brave young warriors are few now…]
[We will go somewhere far away—farther south than Nilfgaard itself. They say it is the Promised Land of our kind, the true homeland of those who once sailed the White Ships.]
[Perhaps only there can the mountain folk shed all fear… and finally find peace.]
Francesca Findabair's voice trembled faintly, as though suppressing something deep within.
Hearing her words, and seeing the eerie calm of the darkness before him — a silence that could even make a Witcher's heart quiver — Allen no longer had any doubt that Francesca's letter was filled with lies.
If there truly existed a promised land where the Aen Seidhe could live in peace, then why had the free elves endured Kaedwen's harassment for so many years without ever migrating?
Was it because they loved this land overrun with hatred and thorns, choosing to stay even as they were repeatedly wounded, their numbers dwindling year by year?
Impossible.
If such a place existed, the Aen Seidhe would have left long ago.
Unfortunately, in this world, there was no longer any sanctuary left for the elder races.
Perhaps, many years in the future — if the White Frost did not destroy the world — the Aen Seidhe would fade away like the myths Allen had heard in his past life: ancient beings swept away with the retreat of Chaos, remembered only in bedtime tales and half-believed legends.
A long pause from the messenger bird made him think the letter had finished reading itself.
Then came a few trembling breaths — the sound of someone fighting tears — followed by Francesca Findabair's clear yet emotionally laden voice.
[But even so, even if my kin and I truly reach the promised land of the Aen Seidhe, Allen… I will not forget you.]
[I will always remember the terror we felt hiding from the human armies, the warmth of your arms as the rock troll raged above us, the icy waters of the illusion river against my skin — and your hands, so warm in contrast. I will remember the little hut where you changed my bandages…]
Clang Clang Clang~
Suddenly, the toll of bells broke through Francesca's soft, murmuring voice.
She paused briefly before speaking again, her tone hurried and breathless: [The bells of victory have sounded, Allen. We're leaving soon — perhaps we'll never meet again.]
[So… Allen…]
[Will you write to me one last time… and call me Enid?]
The cold sensation on his forehead faded as the messenger bird tilted its crystalline head upon his finger, as if asking whether he wished to reply.
The Witcher stood there for a long moment, hand braced against a tree trunk, lost in thought.
Staring into the bird's pure, gleaming eyes, it was as if he could see through them — to the frightened, trembling elven girl who had written that message, trying so hard to sound calm.
"You foolish girl," he murmured softly. "Do you think a letter like that could fool anyone?"
"You can't even lie properly… what a waste of that beautiful face."
With a quiet sigh, the Witcher pressed his forehead against the tiny bird and whispered a few words. Then he raised his hand and let it fly into the gray sky.
A chorus of wails erupted through the withered woods — the howls of restless undead.
Standing atop the tree, Allen watched the messenger bird disappear eastward.
When its shadow was nearly gone, his ice-blue feline eyes lowered, coldly sweeping over the swarm of monsters below.
For a moment, he looked like Death itself — the reaper, staring at souls whose time had come.
Then…
Ash-gray armor crept across his body, covering his youthful features. His blue cat eyes faded, replaced by empty sockets lit with cold, ghostly fire.
A tattered cloak flared in the wind, and beneath the helm — mottled with rust — was nothing but bone.
-----------------------------------
[Name: Wild Hunt's Warlord Armor]
[Type: Magical Equipment]
[Functions:]
1. Helmet - Spectral Skull: Masks the wearer's face with a spectral illusion, instilling fear in non-extraordinary beings and occasionally affecting extraordinary beings.
2. Breastplate - Phantom Ghost: Grants ghostly intangibility, making the wearer immune to physical attacks upon activation.
3. Gauntlets - Iron Grip: Enhances strength and grants immunity to disarm effects.
4. Pauldrons - Elemental Balance: Stabilizes elemental energies, significantly suppressing elemental volatility.
5. Greaves - Arcane Amplifier: Increases spellcasting potency and enhances mana gathering.
6. Boots - Tread of the Wastes: Negates adverse effects of terrain such as swamps, quagmires, and snowy fields.
Set Bonuses:
1. Spiral's Path: Allows the wearer to traverse the Spiral physically.
2. Rebirth: Upon receiving a fatal blow, the armor can be sacrificed, either actively or passively, to transport the wearer to a predetermined location via the Spiral. Current saved location: Tir ná Lia.
---
[Note: Created by the elven sages Avallac'h and Eredin after surviving the pursuit of the White Frost and pillaging most of the worlds conquered by Aen Elle. For the long-lived Aen Elle, every kin who could and would fight for their people was as precious as gold.]
He was no longer a Witcher of the Wolf School — but a skeletal knight, an unrestrained rider of the Wild Hunt.
The Wild Hunt was born to bring ruin — bound by no restraint, fearing nothing.
[Ding! Hunting Quest: Ghoul II (Kill 250/250) — Completed!]
[Ding! Exotic Fusion: "Ghoul," Phase I. Choose fusion location! (If not selected, the system will assign one randomly in 30 seconds.)]
As the mechanical voice echoed, a familiar vision shimmered before Allen's eyes once more — that verdant, gleaming doorway: The Gate of Ard Gaeth, the Grand Gate.
This time, it seemed different — more vivid, more real.
Almost as though it existed here, in this very world, within reach of his fingertips.
The undead around him seemed to sense it too. Their mournful howls fell silent.
Even the foul, rotting mountain wind — once howling through the dead forest — froze in place.
Allen gauged the seconds in his mind… then willed the system forward.
[Warning! Warning! Warning!]
[Detected: Conjunction of the Spheres! Detected: Conjunction of the Spheres!]
The night sky turned crimson.
——
Clang Clang Clang~
Urgent bells echoed through the valley.
It should have been a beautiful valley.
Even under the cover of night, luminous blue flowers blanketed the ground, their faint glow lighting the narrow paths paved with bright red and green tiles, and the railings carved from yew wood along the trail.
But now, the valley — once full of color — had been tainted. The mingling of weeping, shouting, and ringing bells stripped away all beauty, leaving only tragedy.
"Enid! Enid! Why are you still here?! Didn't you hear the bells summoning everyone— what are you doing?"
At the far end of the valley, inside a roughly dug cave, a female elven guard rushed in, fully armed.
She found Francesca Findabair struggling into an ill-fitting set of armor.
Seeing the guard enter, Francesca glanced up calmly.
"Kariya, you came just in time. Help me fasten this buckle—"
"What buckle?" Kariya strode forward, ripped open the poorly strapped armor, and grabbed Francesca's hand, trying to pull her out.
"Enid, we have to go! Your father has divined a direction — the safest path to break through—"
"I will not run, Kariya." Francesca tore free from the guard's calloused hand, raising her voice with eerie calm.
"I am the daughter of Ithlinne's line, last heir to the elven kings! The blood of the Great White Ship flows through me! The spirit of Aelirenn, the White Rose of Shaerrawedd, roars within my chest!"
"I am of age, Kariya. It is my duty to fight for the Aen Seidhe!"
"You are not of age!" Kariya retorted, voice trembling as the bells rang ever faster. "You're still five years from your coming-of-age ceremony! And—"
"You've already fought, Enid!" she pleaded. "The Specter Oil formula you created has saved countless lives on the frontlines!"
"It's because of that oil," she continued desperately, "that we haven't died nameless and humiliated in some forgotten corner of the world. We can still stand and fight — still spread the seeds of our people's hope!"
"Simlas and Sadia are already fighting for the Aen Seidhe!"
"But you," Kariya said, gripping her shoulders, "you are the one meant to plant those seeds! How can the farmer die on the battlefield?"
"You must sow the hope of our people, Enid…"
Francesca's eyes burned red. She screamed back through tears, "The Aen Seidhe have no hope, Kariya!"
"The day the White Rose of Shaerrawedd — Aelirenn — fell beneath human swords, with her blood staining the banner she carried, our hope died with her!"
"We are nothing but prey — creatures caught in the hunter's snare, driven back step by step until there's nowhere left to run!"
Kariya froze. Her hands went limp.
Francesca took a long, shuddering breath, and tears began to spill freely down her cheeks, falling like raindrops onto the cold rock below.
Her voice softened, low and raw with despair.
"The Aen Seidhe have no hope left, Kariya."
"Most of our young and fertile warriors died in Aelirenn's uprising. And now, in this ambush by the human mages, more than half of those who remained are gone."
"How many are left?" she whispered bitterly.
"Barely two hundred of childbearing age. Do you think that's enough to keep the White Ships afloat?"
Kariya said nothing. Her hardened face — shaped by years of battle — began to tremble. Her eyes reddened.
Every word Francesca spoke was true.
And every elf who still lived… already knew it.
How could she refute a truth?
"Let me go, Kariya," Francesca pleaded in a trembling voice. "There are too few seeds left to need a dedicated farmer. The leader's revenge will only make hope burn out faster."
"Don't let me die miserably and in disgrace, trapped in endless despair and pain…"
"At least let me die like Aelirenn — like a hero — in defiance, beneath the enemy's blades."
"Kariya!"
Francesca's voice cracked as she begged.
Kariya bit her lower lip until blood filled her mouth. The sting and the sharp taste of iron did nothing to steady her resolve as they once did.
She should have knocked Enid unconscious right then, taken her away before it was too late — but…
But when she looked into Enid's pleading blue eyes, how could she bear to cast her into a world of vengeance, bloodshed, struggle, and deceit?
Kariya drew in a deep breath, the corner of her mouth twitching faintly as she reached out to gently brush the tangled hair from Enid's forehead.
"Out there, there are no enemy blades waiting — only the foul, blood-soaked fangs of the undead."
Francesca froze for a moment, then straightened, hope flickering across her face.
"Then let those fangs tear into my throat, pierce my heart, and rip me apart — let my honor be purified in the blood that spills from me…"
But never let Allen see me like that… she prayed silently.
When she chose which deity to pray to, she hesitated for a few seconds, then settled on Melitele.
Melitele was a goddess of humankind, but Francesca was not praying for survival. And if the rumors were true — that Melitele was once close to Allen — then surely She would not allow Allen to suffer such grief.
Allen… would you shed tears for me?
"I will die before you, my brave princess… Let me don your armor," Kariya whispered, wiping away her tears as she reached for the armor lying on the ground.
Just then, a crystal-clear bird flew in through the cave's entrance.
Francesca blinked, instinctively raising her hand to her forehead in recognition.
The next instant, her expression changed. She dropped the armor she had just lifted and rushed out of the cave.
"Enid, where are you going?!" Kariya shouted in panic.
The message brought by the messenger bird was short — only one line: "Enid, look up at the sky."
.....
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