Shaquiel was fortunate.
Because of his age and status, he could recognize most of the people present — including Aristo, Vesemir, and Danthe — witcher masters who, due to Ban Ard's rejection of witchers, had not operated in southern Kaedwen for a long time.
This saved him from doing something extremely foolish out of ignorance — unlike the stupid and clueless Valeriu, who was still desperately signalling at him.
Poor Valeriu, who didn't even recognize Lady Tissaia de Vries, still thought they could rely on some mysterious magic to turn the situation around.
But for the same reason, Shaquiel also fell into despair.
Because he recognized most of the people here, the most profound and crushing despair enveloped him. He wished he could slap his past self from a moment ago.
I'm truly doomed!
Why did I have to shout that final line just to please Sunny?!!
"I hope the Wolf School gives us a quick death."
That was now Shaquiel's only remaining thought. Then he sensed Valeriu withdrawing his gaze.
Realizing that Valeriu had recognized Lady Tissaia de Vries and Lady Vera… Shaquiel thought: a young mage like Valeriu, who spent most of his life growing up in Ban Ard, would only be able to recognize these two major figures.
"Shaquiel… Shaquiel!"
Valeriu's anxious murmuring entered his ear. Shaquiel frowned and glanced toward the powerful witcher of unknown identity.
Whether the witcher could not "hear" the magical transmission or simply did not care, he did not look at them.
But that was still no excuse for Valeriu's recklessness.
"Do you know what you're doing?"
Shaquiel transmitted back, glaring at Valeriu, reminding him that they were in Kaer Morhen — the stronghold of witchers — not Ban Ard.
But Valeriu wasn't listening. He just kept signaling toward the other side.
Shaquiel frowned and followed Valeriu's gaze.
He saw two filthy sorcerers behind Lady Tissaia de Vries — likely one mage and one sorceress… Wait… that was Vilgefortz and Lydia van Bredevoort.
What were they doing here?!!
Could it be that the Vilgefortz and Lydia recruited by Dean Hen Gedymdeith… were actually Tissaia de Vries's spies?
No, impossible… Shaquiel reasoned with himself. Tissaia de Vries wasn't that kind of person, and the conflict between Ban Ard and Aretuza hadn't escalated this severely until recently.
That meant she must have recruited them only recently.
How foolish!
Shaquiel shook his head internally.
The Sorcerer Kingdom was on the verge of being established — even Ortolan and Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization had joined. Vilgefortz, despite being an outsider unrelated to Ban Ard or Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization, would still necessarily receive a significant position once the kingdom was formed, simply for the sake of appearances and the prestige of the Source.
What could he possibly gain by siding with Tissaia de Vries?
The enmity of Ban Ard and Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization?
Even now, Shaquiel didn't think he had done anything wrong. He only felt cursed with terrible luck — that he had picked this moment to finish Sunny's task… and had been too impatient. He shouldn't have rushed into Kaer Morhen as soon as something seemed abnormal, climbing the walls immediately.
By his usual cautious habits, he would have observed for several more nights.
"Not Vilgefortz, not Vilgefortz, Lord Shaquiel — look at their feet…"
Valeriu's panicked voice echoed in Shaquiel's mind.
Their feet…?
Shaquiel froze and instinctively lowered his gaze.
There he saw, "frozen," the body of a mage whose appearance struck some distant familiarity.
But because Vilgefortz, Tissaia, and Lydia blocked the upper half of the mage's body, Shaquiel could not see the face.
Even so, Shaquiel's heart lurched violently.
"Who is that?!!"
"Very few have the qualification to wear the star-robe of Ban Ard…"
Shaquiel vaguely sensed a possibility. In a moment of panic, ignoring the powerful witcher beside him and disregarding the presence of Tissaia, Vera, Sol, and other great figures, he suddenly stepped sideways, bypassing Valeriu and circling past Vilgefortz's obstruction.
The instant it happened.
Shaquiel finally saw clearly the familiar face of the person frozen in ice on the ground. His pupils contracted sharply, and a chill seeped from his back straight to his scalp. His brain felt like it was about to explode.
"Dean Hen Gedymdeith?!!" Shaquiel cried out.
What happened at Ban Ard?
Why is Dean Hen Gedymdeith here at the witchers' stronghold, Kaer Morhen?
How could Sunny and Ortolan be so careless?
-----------------------------------
Countless questions surged through his mind like a raging tidal wave.
Just yesterday, Ban Ard had been peaceful and orderly.
The male mages of the Ritual Department had already fought all the way to the doorstep of the Free Elves. That ancient race was just one step away from becoming scattered vagrants like halflings, or intelligent monsters like dopplers.
A kingdom belonging solely to mages was being prepared in perfect order. Exiled nobles of Kaedwen, as well as nobles from Redania, Temeria, and even Aedirn, were all contacting any mage they could reach, hoping to claim a share of profits in the dawn of a new era.
Though Ban Ard under Sunny and the Rissberg Civic Consortium under Ortolan did have some conflicts,
No one would doubt that their power and status in the Northern Continent would rise to unprecedented heights with the establishment of the first secular mage state.
So how could everything be turned upside down after just one night?
Shaquiel lifted his gaze and looked at the filthy Vilgefortz and Lydia van Bredevoort, and he knew this must be related to them—yet he still couldn't understand it.
Vilgefortz might be a Magic Source, but an unripe Magic Source was only stronger than an average mage, nothing more.
How could he possibly rescue Dean Hen Gedymdeith from heavily guarded Ban Ard, from the territories controlled by Sunny and Ortolan?
And then Shaquiel thought further…
What would Hen Gedymdeith' disappearance mean for Sunny, for Ortolan, for Ban Ard, for the Rissberg Civic Consortium?
It would stir a massive political storm across the Northern Continent, likely leading to war…
"No… what does a political storm or war in the Northern Continent have to do with a prisoner like me?"
"I don't even know if I can walk out of Kaer Morhen alive…"
Shaquiel suddenly remembered his own predicament, sighed helplessly, and slumped in despair.
Just then—
"Vmm—"
An earthquake suddenly struck. From the abrupt spatial tremor, dust and gravel cascaded down the tall, ash-gray walls.
Several spiraling, orange-red portals unfolded across the sky over the barbican.
The portals weren't positioned high just about level with the highest point of Kaer Morhen's walls.
"Rooaar—"
After a chain of frenzied, enraged Beast Roars, a monster with the head of a bull was the first to emerge from the portals.
No—that wasn't right. It forced its way out.
Because that enormous bull head was actually not much smaller than Kaer Morhen's main gate.
After the bull head squeezed out came a peeled-red, skinless-looking neck, then a humanoid torso, claws, horse-like hooves…
The appearance of the bull-headed monster felt like a signal.
From the remaining seven or eight portals, several more large monsters shot out—serpent heads with rat tails, scaled gray wings, lion bodies with lizard claws… their appearances were extremely bizarre and ferocious, all different from one another.
These monsters were all hybrid beasts, but compared to natural hybrids like griffins, nightwraiths, or sirens—who at least had some harmonious blend of traits—these creations of the Rissberg Civic Consortium only stirred feelings of chaos and disgust.
But one thing was the same among them all— that savagery and madness that seemed hostile to all living beings.
"Rissberg's modified monsters truly make one uncomfortable every single time," Tissaia de Vries commented, her long brows tightly furrowed.
Her strong cleanliness and obsessive tendencies made her extremely disgusted by these patchwork hybrid beasts.
"Then let's quickly get rid of them…" Vera, who also lacked cleanliness tendencies, still disliked these creatures all the same.
"Snap!"
With a crisp snap of her fingers, a crimson potion appeared in Vera's left hand.
She pulled open the translucent crystal stopper; her warm red lips parted slightly.
Then she blew softly.
In an instant, the red liquid in the bottle vanished. A cloud of red mist wrapped around the sorceress, looking like a fluffy red fox.
But within moments, the red mist surged upward toward the Rissberg war beasts in the sky.
The scarlet fox's leech transformation curse…
Shaquiel shuddered violently, desperately backing away from the crimson fog.
Jerome Moreau didn't pay attention to him—or rather, aside from Sol, Jerome Moreau and every witcher present instinctively backed away from the red mist.
"Swish—swish—"
The sound of autumn wind sweeping away fallen leaves echoed.
The bull-headed war beast touched by the blood mist, along with the other small monsters, shrank rapidly even as they fell from the sky.
By the time they crashed into the barbican, they had already become wrinkled red leeches writhing on the ground. However, only that one bull-headed war beast among the large ones was affected.
The other war beasts seemed to have undergone some special preparation—they struggled painfully in the red mist yet maintained their original forms before crashing down violently.
A section of the barbican wall collapsed; rubble and dust billowed everywhere.
"ROAR—"
The terrifying and frenzied screams of the monsters tore through the sky, shaking the ancient walls. The sound rose and fell, trembling wildly.
Vera frowned.
Seeing this, Tissaia de Vries summoned her staff, preparing to act.
"Clang!"
Amid the clash of metal, a figure moved even faster than she did—leaping into the red mist, stepping across the bodies of the war beasts, spinning and dancing.
Silver-white swordlight whipped up a dazzling storm within the red fog.
Tissaia de Vries had already chanted half of an extremely fast spell, but her voice gradually halted, and she directly abandoned the incantation.
Because she realized—the battle in the barbican had reached its end just after it began.
"Sol has grown stronger."
This was a statement, not a question.
Tissaia de Vries frowned as she looked toward Vera.
Not only stronger—Tissaia had sensed intense danger the moment Sol made his move. That was why her spellcasting had slowed by half a beat.
Her senses had actually raised an alarm—because of a witcher. And Sol had clearly not used his full strength yet.
Vera smiled faintly and said nothing.
Tissaia, recognizing this, did not continue to ask. Her gaze stayed on the Wolf School grandmaster sheathing his sword, her eyes flickering.
Vesemir, Aristo, and Danthe also noticed Sol's overwhelming improvements. They exchanged glances, visibly excited.
Second Mutations!
This was Second Mutations!
No witcher could refuse such a massive increase in strength.
But then they remembered who had supplied the technology for the Second Mutations, and their excitement dimmed instantly.
"Gulp—"
Shaquiel and Valeriu gulped simultaneously, staring in shock as the war beasts the Rissberg Civic Consortium took pride in were slaughtered effortlessly.
Their shock wasn't because the war beasts were defeated so quickly.
With so many powerful figures here, and the Wolf School "already prepared," the war beasts were never going to amount to anything.
They were shocked because…
In just a few blinks, with only the scarlet fox and the Wolf School grandmaster—no, even without the scarlet fox, just the Wolf School grandmaster alone could have easily wiped out all these monsters.
As if they weren't Rissberg war beasts at all—more like a few ordinary Drowners that had crawled out from a riverside.
This shouldn't be possible. Otherwise, Sunny's "gift" would be a joke from beginning to end.
"Shaquiel…"
Valeriu's mental voice trembled violently in Shaquiel's ears.
"Su… Sunny… the ones he wants killed aren't the witchers… it's us, isn't it?"
Shaquiel froze, but before he could answer, he suddenly realized—
The surroundings had turned terrifyingly silent.
A heavy iron-rust smell spread through the air.
Only the sound of fresh blood trickling between severed limbs and chunks of monster flesh echoed through the narrow barbican.
When Shaquiel cautiously lifted his head—he realized the center of attention in the barbican was not him and Valeriu, the supposed culprits…but Vilgefortz, standing beside Hen Gedymdeith.
Even stranger was the posture of Tissaia de Vries…
She was protecting Vilgefortz and the ones she appeared to be opposing were actually the rightful masters of the land beneath their feet—the witchers of the Wolf School…
......
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