"Return to the Mayena Druid Circle…"
"Now?"
Korin froze for a moment and looked back at the old road that was gradually becoming clogged.
The old road wasn't far from Mayena. Under normal circumstances it would only be a two-day journey, but what they were facing now was absolutely not "normal circumstances."
A heavy rain had just fallen. Brugge hadn't sent anyone to maintain order or notify the caravans along the entire old road. At this point, let alone two days—five days wouldn't be enough to get back to the Mayena Druid Circle.
And Brugge had clearly been scared out of his wits by that black dragon—if it even was blackened by smoke.
Expecting those cowardly nobles to send people out at a time like this to maintain and direct traffic was unrealistic. Otherwise they wouldn't be stuck here themselves, unable to go in or out.
And besides…
"What about the witcher?" Korin pointed at the closed carriage. "You can't expect me, a freelance warrior who isn't even good at basic bandaging, to stay here and tend to an injured man in that condition, right?"
"You might as well just let me give him a quick death with my sword. It would be kinder."
"The witcher…" Visenna pressed her lips together, looking troubled.
"Either way, you have to send the information about Brugge back," Korin jerked his chin in the direction of Brugge. "Why not enter the city first, send a message back by carrier pigeon, and drop the witcher at the Temple of Melitele for treatment…"
"No," Visenna shook her head decisively. "Brugge is on high alert right now. I can't hide my identity and enter the city."
"The situation in Brugge is still unclear. Noble disputes and entanglements are a mess. I don't want to expose myself and drag the Mayena Druid Circle into it without warning."
"Noble affairs are troublesome…" Korin nodded, agreeing with her.
He recalled how, when they first met, Visenna had been disguised in men's clothing…
The Mayena Druid Circle was unlike most other extraordinary groups. They valued seclusion and closeness to nature, and had little entanglement with worldly nobility and kings. They spent most of their time in the Circle, communing with nature.
It wasn't hard to find a sorcerer—just go somewhere crowded and bustling. The youngest, most extravagantly dressed people covered in gemstones were usually sorcerers.
But druids were hard to find.
Because they sought to commune with nature, they avoided crowded cities.
"What about Armeria?" Korin thought for a moment. "Armeria is on the other end of the old road. Maybe…"
"You said it yourself—this was three days ago," Visenna interrupted. "Brugge and Armeria are both vassals of Temeria. They don't have severe conflict. They likely sent a warning the moment it happened."
"Or maybe try one of those mysterious and powerful spells of yours?" Korin suggested again.
"I heard sorcerers can make those whirlpool-like portals—you walk in, 'pop,' and suddenly you're on the cold Skellige Isles, and then from there you can go to eternal springtime Toussaint with all its vineyards and wine."
"Portals are extremely advanced magic, not something every sorcerer can cast," Visenna corrected seriously. "And travel to or from the Skellige Isles can only be done by ship—large ships capable of weathering the ocean's furious storms…"
"So there's no small spell to send a message?" Korin said in confusion. "You only need to send Brugge's black dragon sighting back. Isn't there a spell for that?"
Visenna took a long breath and forced herself to explain.
"Sorcerers differ from one another. A druid's magic depends heavily on the environment. There's a river, the Trava, between the old road and the Mayena Druid Circle."
"Rivers act as natural walls, creating barriers in the occult…"
"No need to go on," Korin waved a hand, cutting off her complicated explanation. "I'm just a wandering warrior who's only heard myths and chivalric tales. I understand what you mean. So our only choice is to return to the Mayena Druid Circle?"
"Then we come back to the same question…"
"What about the witcher?"
Visenna fell silent for a long time. She glanced at the tightly closed carriage door without saying a word.
"Visenna, it's a dragon—yes—but it's only a dragon," Korin said in a coaxing tone. "It appeared suddenly, disappeared just as suddenly. It's been three days, and the only trace left is the recruitment notice on the city wall. Nothing else."
"Honestly, I don't understand why you're in such a hurry."
Seeing her remain silent, Korin continued: "And we just found the golden-furred beast's tracks. If you return to the Mayena Druid Circle now, those bounty hunters might leave because of the chaos caused by the black dragon."
"If that happens, who knows where you'll have to search for it next time."
"The black dragon is different," Visenna sighed softly. "And I suspect the black dragon came chasing the golden-furred beast. A powerful dragon can disguise itself in human form. If we keep tracking like this, it will be too dangerous…"
At that moment—
News that lagged behind Korin by a step finally spread across the old road. Farmers and peddlers, upon hearing a dragon had appeared, immediately fled the old road and escaped into the weed-choked fields on both sides.
The guards and merchants of the caravans cursed Brugge's nobles furiously. Looking fearfully toward the sky, they discussed where they should flee to next.
Hearing the panic and chaos that had just subsided only to surge up again, Visenna frowned and pushed open the wooden carriage door.
Clack.
The door closed again, shutting out most of the noise—and pulling the witcher, who had been focusing on eavesdropping, back to himself.
'What's so different about the black dragon?' he wondered.
'Because in the oldest prophecies, black dragons are the claws of the White Frost, the enemies of all living things including dragons themselves, the destroyers of the world?'
Dragons were iconic monsters of Western fantasy—without dragons, it hardly counted as a fantasy world.
Sol had even killed a dragon before, so Kaer Morhen's library had many monsterology, mythology, and occult parchment scrolls about dragons.
Allen had read them out of curiosity after passing the mountain trial early this year.
But he felt Visenna's anxiety was not solely due to some ancient, vague prophecy.
'And what is this "golden-furred beast"? It's a beast, not a monster. A beast—worth the mistress of the Mayena Druid Circle's personal pursuit after she just destroyed a Koshchey?'
But none of that mattered right now.
Allen had to pull their attention to him before their silence broke and they made a decision.
Luckily—
As soon as Visenna entered the carriage, she habitually came close and crouched to check his wounds.
Allen seized the moment and mustered all his remaining strength to focus his mind.
Visenna's hand paused slightly against his chest, and a clear voice echoed in his mind: [You're awake, witcher.]
[Yes, I'm awake. Thank you, Lady Visenna.]
After the brief greeting, Allen immediately asked: [Lady Visenna, have you seen a crystal bird?]
-----------------------------------
Tir ná Lia.
A clear day, the blazing sun hung high.
But the ivory-white tower was shrouded in thick white mist, and pure white light flickered within it, like some cloud-devouring beast exhaling breath.
Aside from this, the Tower of the Swallow was as quiet as the waters of Lake Tarn Mira below—clear as a mirror, yet without a ripple.
Suddenly—
The rhythmically flickering white light halted, then abruptly erupted into blood-red radiance.
The dense fog was blown apart in an instant by the distorted ripples in the air, revealing the terrace with its hollow-carved railings, the rune-etched stone slabs, the tall, slender white pillars that held the dome aloft, and…
A member of the Alder Folk leaning against one of the white pillars, wearing a loose long robe of chiffon and golden thread—Eredin Bréacc Glas.
He abruptly opened eyes as blue as sapphires, and his gaze fell upon another of the Alder Folk seated beside a white-jade table—Avallac'h.
Outside the tower, the blazing sun was at some point swallowed by ink-black clouds. Rain began to fall in a fine drizzle, and Lake Tarn Mira, clear as a mirror, rippled outward in rings.
"What happened? You were gone so long."
"Did those unicorns harass the Red Riders on patrol again, or did some world seize the chance to ignite war?"
Avallac'h slowly opened his eyes at that same moment, calmly observing the expression on Eredin Bréacc Glas's face.
Eredin Bréacc Glas remained silent for a long time, blue light flickering faintly in his sapphire-like eyes.
"Neither," he said expressionlessly. "It's worse than that… and also better."
Avallac'h frowned in confusion.
"I returned from the shattered body of Renakins Galleon Price," Eredin Bréacc Glas said. "Renakins Galleon Price was the Red Rider captain assigned to Spiral Sector 43…"
"He's dead." This was a statement, not a question. Avallac'h's long, thin brows tightened further.
There was only one possibility for Eredin Bréacc Glas to possess a Red Rider: the host was already beyond rescue, about to board the White Ship home.
But ever since the resurrection ritual was invented and compressed into the Warlord Armor enchantments, unless they encountered an accident in the Spiral, a Red Rider wouldn't die even once in one or two centuries.
"This is already the third case," Avallac'h said gravely, rising from the white-jade table and walking toward the bowed, contemplative Eredin Bréacc Glas. "A mere human world, where you can't even find someone who's broken the First Limit…"
"It's not the third," Eredin Bréacc Glas interrupted, stopping Avallac'h mid-step.
"What?" Avallac'h froze, startled by the interruption.
"Besides the fifteen who returned 'early,' the remaining eighty-five Red Riders were wiped out. Renakins Galleon Price was the eighty-sixth," Eredin said, his tone so calm it was frightening, as though suppressing something beneath it.
The ivory tower fell silent for a moment.
"WHAT?!" Avallac'h grabbed Eredin's pale wrist, horrified. "Eighty-six! How is that possible?!"
For the first time in hundreds or thousands of years, Avallac'h felt his long-dormant heart tremble, dizzy with shock.
Eighty-six Red Riders—among them a captain who had broken the First Limit—lost. How could the Alder Folk possibly accept such devastation?!
"Has the White Frost arrived early?!"
"No. If it were the White Frost, it wouldn't happen so soon, and it wouldn't allow you to possess the host!"
"It wasn't the White Frost," Eredin Bréacc Glas shook his head. "It was a…"
He paused, seeming to search for the right word.
"…a strange gene-modified being."
"He wore Red Rider Warlord Armor and summoned a black dragon. A black dragon whose breath slaughtered my Red Riders."
A gene-modified being wearing Red Rider Warlord Armor… a black dragon… Avallac'h froze again. It all sounded like one of those absurd fantasy tales whispered by the conquered natives of lesser worlds.
He calmed himself, eyebrows drawn tight, staring at the expressionless Eredin Bréacc Glas, trying to see if he was making some cruel joke.
Eredin Bréacc Glas met his gaze in silence.
"Is this… true?" Avallac'h's throat tightened. "But Warlord Armor is bound to the soul. Unless it was unused armor, if a Red Rider dies—even without triggering resurrection—the armor should just become an ordinary suit of well-crafted mixed-material armor…"
"This question should be asked by me, Crevan Espane aep Caomhan Macha, 'Great Sage,'" Eredin said coldly. "You are the designer of the Warlord Armor—quartermaster of the Alder Folk."
"Why is the shield meant to protect the Alder Folk now in the hands of our enemies?"
Avallac'h fell silent for a long time.
Why the black dragon appeared, and why it obeyed a gene-modified person's command—at this moment, it was no longer important.
Avallac'h recalled Eredin Bréacc Glas's words. Instead of answering his question, he shifted the topic and asked: "'Worse' you've already said. What is the 'better'?"
Eredin Bréacc Glas seemed not to care about Avallac'h at all. As if trying to shirk responsibility, he switched the topic directly and said: "We found the Gate of Ard Gaeth…"
"The Gate of Ard Gaeth…" A flash of insight crossed Avallac'h's face. "You mean…"
"That's right," Eredin Bréacc Glas nodded. "The Gate of Ard Gaeth, which the Alder Folk have searched for over a thousand years, is on that gene-modified body wearing Warlord Armor and riding a giant dragon to slaughter the Red Riders!"
Hearing this, Avallac'h's mind shook violently, as if a stone hammer had smashed into his heart.
The Gate of Ard Gaeth… the Grand Gate…
The Alder Folk's hope of escaping the White Frost, of surviving eternally!
Avallac'h took a deep breath and calmed himself.
"Are you sure?"
"Sure." Eredin Bréacc Glas curled the corner of his lips. "Besides the Gate of Ard Gaeth, what other power could summon a black dragon to Spiral Sector Forty-Three, where dragons are nearly extinct?"
Avallac'h said, "The Gate of Ard Gaeth doesn't have the ability to tame a black dragon, either."
Eredin Bréacc Glas's lips carried that faint, ambiguous smile. He stared straight at Avallac'h without speaking.
Outside the Tower of the Swallow, the rain grew heavier. The ripples on Lake Tarn Mira merged into one surface.
"What do you want me to do?" Avallac'h finally asked the question with difficulty.
Eredin Bréacc Glas's expression finally changed. His lips parted, revealing pale teeth and crimson gums. In a deep voice, he said: "I want a war—a war that will drown the earth in blood!"
........
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