Mary and Philippa Eilhart exchanged absurd, bewildered glances.
The mission to rescue Hen Gedymdeith had been stalled for nearly a month.
Mary had repeatedly tried and failed to convince her mentor; finally, she made up her mind and prepared extensively—both materially and mentally—to defy her mentor's wishes and act first, report later.
For Philippa Eilhart, who was fully devoted to helping Lado restore his kingdom, the busy efforts of placating, persuading, and planning made the rescue of Hen Gedymdeith feel as distant as something that had happened six months ago.
Yet just as they finished deciding who would stealthily enter Ban Ard with Allen to rescue Hen Gedymdeith…
In just a brief moment, as the sun dispelled the morning mist, Hen Gedymdeith had already been rescued.
In a daze, it felt to them as if it were not the autumnal equinox, but four or five months later, during the Winter Solstice Candle Festival.
The south tower stairway was no longer ordinary stone steps, but a corridor of time.
Sol and Vera were also confused. Just yesterday, Allen had left Kaer Morhen to respond to Francesca Findabair's letter.
How, in a single night, had Hen Gedymdeith been rescued?
"Are you telling the truth?!!"
Tissaia de Vries, emotionally agitated, hurried a few steps to Vilgefortz and Lydia van Bredevoort.
Vilgefortz, understanding, set down the heavy object on his back, gently placing it on the ground, and lifted the black cloth concealing its magic.
The overwhelming aura belonging solely to the magical source Hen Gedymdeith instantly enveloped the entire ward.
"Buzzz! Buzzz! Buzzz!"
The griffin and wolf-shaped iron badges on the chests of Jerome Moreau, Sol, and the recently arrived Vesemir, Aristo, and Danthe throbbed violently.
A cyan glow pulsed like a living breath within the translucent gel, illuminating Hen Gedymdeith clad in black sorcerer's robes, hands locked in dimeritium manacles, eyes closed.
Everyone's breath caught at the presence of the most powerful northern witcher.
"It's Hen Gedymdeith," Tissaia de Vries said, stepping forward with a grave expression. "The Geoffrey Monck's Healing Gel a modified version of ancient elven 'Healing Gel' absorbs ambient magical energy and elemental power to heal the caster. Only one with magical source can master it—a master-level spell combining defense and healing."
"But the dimeritium manacles obstructed the healing effect, causing the absorbed magic and elements to manifest as cyan magical light…"
Tissaia de Vries glanced at Vilgefortz.
"It was Sunny," Vilgefortz nodded. "Although we didn't witness it, Hen Gedymdeith was hidden very deeply; only Sunny could access him."
Tissaia de Vries shook her head. "Hen Gedymdeith always praised disciples and successors at every gathering, yet in the end, they betrayed him for power…"
"This is truly…"
She left the thought unsaid, sighed, and extended her slender, pale index finger, chanting a spell.
A purple-red magical glow flickered into the Geoffrey Monck Healing Gel, entering the dimeritium manacles.
The manacles trembled and unlocked, releasing the living-like healing gel.
"What spell is this? The dimeritium manacles can be opened by magic?" Mary asked Philippa Eilhart through telepathy, curious.
"It's a Lock Key Opening…" answered not Philippa, but Vera nearby.
Mary exclaimed: "But Lock Key Opening is only an apprentice-level spell…"
"So the truly powerful thing is never the spell, but the caster," Vera glanced at Mary. "Also, although called dimeritium manacles, they are an alloy, not pure dimeritium. Thus, magic can take effect."
Vera then noticed Mary's small satchel, glanced at Philippa beside her, and raised an eyebrow meaningfully.
Got it—Tissaia de Vries is amazing… Mary, unaware of the subtle expression, nodded, internally echoing Allen's admiration.
Although she didn't exactly know what the syllables "amazing" meant, neither in the common tongue nor ancient speech…
Wait!
Recalling Allen's occasional strange remarks, Mary suddenly realized a problem.
Vilgefortz said the rescue of Hen Gedymdeith had been completed under Allen's leadership, and now Hen Gedymdeith, Vilgefortz, and even Lydia van Bredevoort had arrived…
Then where was Allen?
"Allen didn't come back with you?" Mary suddenly asked aloud.
The others fell silent at the sound, all turning to look at Vilgefortz.
"Allen… he…" Vilgefortz instinctively opened his mouth, about to explain Allen's movements in detail.
But then he noticed not only Vesemir, Aristo, and Vera—those extremely close to Allen—but also strangers like Tissaia de Vries and Philippa Eilhart…
Thinking of the witcher's armor, which bore a striking resemblance to the Wild Hunt, and the fact that he had casually summoned a black dragon that had vanished from the Northern Continent for centuries, he shut his mouth.
After pondering for a while, he exchanged a glance with Lydia van Bredevoort and said: "Allen… voluntarily stayed behind to cover our retreat…"
The entire ward fell silent for an instant.
"What did you say?!!"
A shadow flashed before Vilgefortz's eyes.
Aristo, who had just arrived and hadn't yet understood how Allen had gone from aiding the free elves to rescuing Hen Gedymdeith, grabbed Vilgefortz by the collar and lifted him up.
"What do you mean he voluntarily stayed behind to cover our retreat?!!"
"I knew none of you sorcerers were good people…"
"Aristo!" Sol called out, interrupting the old witcher master. "Put Vilgefortz down and let him speak properly."
Aristo's tone faltered, his amber cat-like eyes glaring at Vilgefortz, and he set him down.
"What's going on?"
Tissaia de Vries rose from Hen Gedymdeith' side and quietly positioned herself between Aristo and Vilgefortz, shielding the young magical source who had staggered before finding his footing.
Vilgefortz remained silent.
Only now did he realize he hardly understood the Child of Miracle. He had discovered the greatest secret of the Child of Miracle, yet knew almost nothing about the relationships between the Child of Miracle and those around him.
Vesemir was surely trustworthy—but could Sol be trusted?
Vilgefortz didn't know whether there were factional struggles within the witcher schools, but he knew that no human organization formed without politics.
According to the political laws of the world, no matter the relationship, even between father and son, the true relationship between a superior and a subordinate who sufficiently threatens that superior's position is always adversarial.
Yet in Kaer Morhen, on the land Vilgefortz stood upon, he could never exclude Sol and leave anyone alone to explain the miracles Allen had wrought.
So…
He seemed unable to say anything.
Vilgefortz's silence and contemplation made the tension in the ward grow ever thicker.
Vesemir, Danthe, Vera, even Sol and Jerome Moreau, all regarded him with hostile gazes.
Aristo's hand rested firmly on the hilt of his silver sword.
"Vilgefortz!" Tissaia de Vries, her expression grave, shielded the young magical source and barked sharply, "Say something, Vilgefortz!"
"It's true, Allen voluntarily stayed behind to cover the retreat, but he should return very soon…"
The voice did not come from Vilgefortz, but from the ever-unassuming Lydia van Bredevoort.
"Is that so, Vilgefortz?" Tissaia de Vries asked.
"Lydia is right," Vilgefortz nodded. "And because of Hen Gedymdeith, we won't be leaving just yet, so there's no need to worry too much."
Although Vilgefortz and Lydia van Bredevoort were evasive, seemingly hiding something, their reasoning was sound.
No matter what they were concealing, if Allen were truly in serious danger, Vilgefortz and Lydia could have simply not come to Kaer Morhen.
The atmosphere in the ward eased somewhat.
Vesemir, sensing Vilgefortz's hesitation, caught a familiar unease in his voice—Allen was up to something big again.
"You're not Guy, then who are you?!!"
Suddenly, a commotion erupted atop the walls above them.
"Enemy attack—"
Alongside a flurry of alarm calls and battle cries, the witchers' school emblems vibrated once more.
At the same time, a brazen magical voice carried through the air.
"Witchers! This is a gift from Lord Sunny to the Wolf School—"
The magical transmission was cut off mid-sentence.
Because the instant the commotion appeared on the walls, Jerome Moreau, near the outer wall, leapt into action. He stepped across the stone gaps and, as if his feet were treading on air, lightly landed atop the wall.
"Sunny?" Vilgefortz and Lydia van Bredevoort exchanged stunned glances.
Although they hadn't seen Sunny's death firsthand, they had witnessed, from far off on Ban Ard's walls, a black dragon with bat-like wings blotting out the sun, exhaling its first blast of incandescent breath.
At that time, neither the Wild Hunt nor Ortolan had emerged from the ruins; the dragon's breath could only have targeted Sunny and his men.
Even if not, would the Child of Miracle, riding a black dragon, be foolish enough to spare Sunny, who had witnessed the summoning firsthand?
"So… who is that?"
Vilgefortz looked up curiously.
Sunny's "gift" was certainly not benign, but neither he nor Lydia van Bredevoort had any intention of evading it.
Tissaia de Vries, Vera, Sol… across the entire Northern Continent, there was no place safer than Kaer Morhen at this moment.
-----------------------------------
On the walls of Kaer Morhen.
The crimson crystal above the ward disintegrated into red powder, dissipating into the air.
"Who are you?!!"
Jerome Moreau suddenly appeared, startling Shaquiel, who had just completed his task, delivered harsh words for Sunny, and was preparing to teleport away with Valeriu.
The two mages sensed a powerful threat and instinctively unleashed crimson fireballs toward Jerome Moreau.
But in the next moment, they saw a scene that made their pupils shrink in sheer terror.
Clang!
The Gryphon School witcher, expression indifferent, rushed toward the two mages, swinging his sword at a speed almost invisible to the naked eye.
The two fireballs, moving so fast they were nearly streaks of light, were split in midair by a silver flash.
Pop~
Pop~
Like soap bubbles being pricked, the two fireballs were split apart without exploding.
Instead, after two soft sounds, the fire elements condensed by magic collapsed and quickly dispersed.
Such exquisite control over the structure of magic—could a witcher really achieve this?
"Who are you?!!" Valeriu and Shaquiel shouted in terror again.
Shaquiel didn't understand. The timing had been perfect—just as the Wolf School was under attack, at its most vulnerable moment. In just a brief instant, with a single word, they could have opened a teleportation portal and left.
Why had a terrifyingly powerful witcher, clearly not a grandmaster of the Wolf School, suddenly appeared out of nowhere?
Jerome Moreau, however, had no interest in answering. With measured steps, he positioned himself between the two mages before they could cast another spell.
Without a word or any threatening action, just by standing there, Valeriu and Shaquiel froze like prey confronted by a predator.
"We were forced here by Sunny, we mean no hostility toward the Wolf School," Shaquiel raised his hands, quickly showing submission while warning, "The crystal I threw just now contains coordinates for Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization. Soon, many war beasts will appear there, those are…"
Valeriu watched in astonishment.
'Valeriu, I've survived this long because of caution!'
Shaquiel's words echoed in his mind like thunder.
It wasn't until Shaquiel nudged him with his shoulder that he came back to himself and mirrored the gesture: "Yes, we were forced."
"Follow me!" Jerome Moreau calmly escorted them down from the walls.
"This… witcher master," Shaquiel glanced at the spot where the coordinate crystal had disintegrated, "Everything I said was true. Don't you need to warn your fellow witchers in your school?"
He wasn't really worried about the Wolf School witchers—he feared he wouldn't escape Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization and the iron hooves of those monstrous war beasts.
"Will those war beasts appear there?"
The demon-like witcher with tri-colored eyes pointed to the spot where the coordinate crystal had shattered and asked the first question.
"That's right, that's right," Shaquiel nodded repeatedly, "At least seven or eight war beasts comparable to large monsters, plus a huge group of other monsters…"
The fearsome witcher merely nodded, continued calmly to the edge of the wall, grabbed Shaquiel and Valeriu by the collars, and leapt down.
"Seven or eight large monsters! Why isn't this creature reacting at all?"
In midair, Shaquiel exchanged a confused glance with Valeriu, wondering how to persuade him once they landed, how to quickly summon Dragon Slayer Sol to save their lives.
Thud thud~
Landing from the wall, their feet met solid ground.
As the blinding sunlight fell into the shadowed ward, Shaquiel instinctively squinted.
"Huh?!!"
Once he adjusted to the darkness, Shaquiel shuddered violently. After blinking several times, his body froze instantly.
"By the Power of Chaos!"
"Where… where am I?!!"
.........
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