"Vera…" The mistress of the Mayena Druid Circle was clearly stunned, even the mental fluctuations in the sending spell rippled violently. "You mean the Crimson Fox, Vera?"
It was a redundant question, but the unexpected mental fluctuations carried within it surprised the witcher—like discovering that the new roommate you just met in your first university week personally knows Hidetaka Miyazaki and can call him over to play video game together: shock mixed with delight.
This made Allen realize that although Vera had mentioned Visenna, the two sorceresses didn't seem familiar with each other at all.
And Visenna—the mistress of the Mayena Druid Circle—seemed to be a worshipper of Vera.
The first point, after a brief thought, made sense. If they were truly familiar, she would not have failed to recognize the message-bird.
If that were the case, when he woke, he would not have found himself on the barren mountain paths of the Amell Mountains, but on the soft third-floor bed of the tower on the eastern side of Kaer Morhen.
As for the latter…
People always tend to underestimate those they know and overestimate strangers.
Having been with Vera for so long, accustomed to her gentle, accommodating, almost motherly nature, the witcher had been unconsciously underestimating her status in the extraordinary world—especially within the world of sorceresses.
Thinking about it now, the most widely spread and most widely worshipped faith in the Northern Continent—the Melitele Church—its Archpriestess, Ianna, was Vera's adopted daughter.
The strongest sorceress of the Northern Continent, Tissaia de Vries, was one of Vera's close friends with whom she could speak freely.
Ida Emean, the only female Aen Saevherne among the Hill Folk, once gifted her a message-bird, and Sadia, a true-blooded elven royal, had her magic abolished by Vera and was sent to the temple to become a nun and healer…
What a status this was!
Among the sorceresses of the Northern Continent, in terms of prestige, she was already at the very top.
Visenna was indeed the mistress of the Mayena Druid Circle, but there could be countless Druid Circles on the Northern Continent, while the Crimson Fox engraved in the history books existed only as one.
"She's exactly the Vera you're thinking of," Allen said calmly. "I've seen her use portals. She should be able to send you to the Mayena Druid Circle quickly…"
"She… Lady Ve–Vera certainly can. Although she never specialized in spatial magic, a portal is nothing to someone as great as her. Yes, there are rumors she is now affiliated with the Wolf School, but… are you sure she will come…"
Visenna's mental fluctuations were so excited that she became almost incoherent. Allen could imagine her expression must be quite remarkable at this moment.
The mental fluctuations coming from Korin, on the other hand, trembled less intensely.
After a few seconds of silence, he finally asked: "Vera—the Crimson Fox—isn't she a figure from the epic Aelerian Uprising? She… she's still alive?"
"Of course she's still alive," Visenna scolded before Allen could reply. "Lady Vera is not yet two hundred and fifty years old—she's still very young…"
Two hundred and fifty… very young… Even Allen was left speechless at how these two words were combined.
But thinking about it, Hen Gedymdeith was the child of immigrants from the "First Landing," received training from elven mages, and had already lived nearly four hundred years. Before the Wild Hunt destroyed Ban Ard, he was still active on the Northern Continent, and he only died of heart disease a hundred years later during the Thanedd Coup on Thanedd Island.
Vera's age indeed was not considered old.
"My apologies, Korin… Korin just speaks without thinking, he didn't mean to… to make light of Lady Vera…"
After scolding Korin, Visenna nervously apologized to Allen, her tone trembling with fear and pleading.
Korin also seemed to recall the reputation of the Crimson Fox; his face instantly turned pale, his voice trembling as he apologized repeatedly.
This made Allen recall the witcher Letho, who had fled Kaer Morhen for a full day with no pause after Vera heard—through mind-reading—his careless internal jokes about Vera and Sol's relationship before the Trial of the Mountains.
For a moment, he wasn't sure whether it was due to the exhaustion from his injuries or the memories, but he felt slightly dazed.
"Allen?" Visenna called through the telepathic spell.
Allen recovered and replied, "Don't worry, I didn't hear anything."
"You're all my saviors. How could I do such a thing…"
Visenna and Korin both sighed in relief.
"The Wolf School's contributions to humanity are clear for all to see. No normal person would ignore a witcher unconscious in the wilderness," Visenna said softly.
Most humans, nobles, and mages in Kaedwen would… Allen silently muttered to himself, then continued sincerely in the mental link, "I must still thank you both…"
After several rounds of polite exchanges, they returned to the main topic.
Visenna lifted the crystal bird in her hand. "So, to call Lady Vera, what should I do?"
"Press the beak of the crystal bird against my forehead, then let it go," Allen said softly.
Visenna followed the witcher's instructions and pressed the message-bird's beak to his forehead.
Korin watched quietly, and after calming down, he found himself not nearly as calm as he outwardly appeared.
Whether that seemingly useless noble craftwork could truly contact the Crimson Fox was secondary—he didn't understand the structure or organization of witcher schools anyway.
He simply thought of one thing—
A witcher who could summon the Crimson Fox with a magical tool…
How could he possibly be the "ordinary witcher" he and Visenna assumed—one who had just passed the Trial and been separated from his mentor by a powerful monster?
"Wolf School witcher Allen… Allen…" Korin finally grasped the source of the strong familiarity he felt when the witcher had introduced himself.
Not long after—
"Flap! Flap! Flap—"
The crystal bird whose beak touched the witcher's forehead suddenly fluttered its wings. A moment ago it had been a lifeless human-made ornament; now it came alive as if enchanted.
Visenna quickly let go as instructed and opened the wooden door of the sealed wagon.
Sunlight, breeze, and the noise of the caravan and travelers flooded inside instantly.
The crystal-clear bird soared upward, flying into the dazzling sunlight.
At that second—when the multicolored light from the crystal bird's wings reflected into Korin's eyes—the wandering knight suddenly understood, his eyes widening as he stared at the wounded man lying unmoving on the straw. His brown pupils expanded instantly.
"You… you're Allen! You're that Allen?!"
Still gazing at the transparent wings disappearing into the blue sky, Visenna jumped in fright and scolded, "Korin, what nonsense are you shouting again? Of course he is Allen!"
"No! No! He's not Allen—wait, no, he is Allen, but not that Allen!" Now the one talking nonsense became Korin rather than Visenna.
"What exactly are you saying?" Visenna glared again, but soon, seeing his exaggerated expression, she realized something and lowered her head to look at the witcher.
At the same time, Korin sucked in a deep breath, but could not suppress his child-like excitement. His teeth trembled as he hummed a broken tune: "…He came from the north… he came from the north…"
"…With blue cat-like eyes opening and closing, death answered his call…"
"…At fourteen, the young knight of Ellander named his beloved silver blade—Elsa…"
"…With this sword he slew wraiths, slew Drowners, slew everyone's fear…"
-----------------------------------
"What kind of nonsense are you singing?" Visenna frowned.
Korin unnaturally stopped humming, took another deep breath, and then spoke in a soft, sneaky whisper as if afraid something might slip away: "He is Allen, the Death Knight from the North, the witcher-knight of Ellander, the youngest master witcher of the Wolf School, the master of Elsa, the tamer of the Royal Griffin, the Blue Death, and…"
Korin paused, his excited tone rising: "The Godslayer—Allen!"
"There aren't that many people in this carriage," the witcher, who had just used the message-bird and felt a bit exhausted, weakly smiled amid the overlapping mental fluctuations of the three. "Just call me Allen…"
——
Francesca Findabair could no longer be recognized for her original, noble and elegant elven-princess appearance.
Her delicate headpiece had been removed. Her golden hair, though not tied into any decorative hairstyle and simply gathered together neatly, now appeared somewhat disheveled from the long journey.
Her fair skin had no wounds, but was dotted with patches of mud and sweat.
Although this still could not hide Francesca Findabair's beauty—instead giving her a simple, village-girl charm—it matched her current state very well.
Tired!
She had never been this tired in her life!
Her soleus, gastrocnemius, sartorius, gracilis, semitendinosus… every muscle in her legs trembled, so exhausted and sore it felt as if they had been injected with unripe lemon juice.
The blisters on her feet healed, only to form again.
She had never missed the bed in the Free Elves' camp so much, even if it was only a half-finished thing patched together from two old blankets.
But she only gritted her teeth, grabbed the scratching tree roots on the steep slope, and climbed up.
She could not show even the slightest hint of weakness in front of another person.
Thus, one steep slope after another steep slope was climbed by her numb limbs. Every so often, she cautiously took out the message-bird, released it, retrieved it, then continued climbing, until finally she stopped before a sparse forest.
"No need to go farther, Francesca. It's still a dead end ahead—we need to take a detour."
At the sound of Vesemir's voice behind her, Francesca Findabair instantly exhaled in relief.
The muscle fatigue she had been suppressing by sheer will surged up at once. Supporting herself against a bent maple tree, her arm gave out, and she staggered, nearly falling off the cliff.
It was Ida Emean who quickly grabbed her in time.
"Careful, Enid."
Ida Emean panted as she brushed the dirt off Francesca Findabair's leather armor, without using magic.
Because this had happened many times already, and each time they used magic—no matter how powerful a sorceress was—such consumption could not be sustained.
Ida Emean also did not try persuading her to give up. She had tried countless times already without ever receiving a positive response, so she simply stopped trying.
"If only an activated message-bird could pass through a portal…" Ida Emean sighed inwardly.
Unfortunately, once a message-bird initiated a sending command, unless it reached the recipient, it could not be canceled no matter what method was used.
Behind the two elves, Danthe and Jerome Moreau lowered their raised arms, habitually relaxing all their muscles. They had done this motion countless times.
"I think we need to rest for a bit."
Vesemir glanced at the equally exhausted Vera, Mary, and Vilgefortz and made the suggestion.
Three or four days of almost sleepless pursuit—never mind the physically frail sorceresses—even the three witchers were reaching their limits.
But unlike Vera, Margarita Laux-Antille, Francesca Findabair, Ida Emean, and Vilgefortz—whose exhaustion was purely physical—the three witchers had to protect everyone in this wilderness, making sure no accidents happened when the physically frail sorceresses were at their limits.
This constant mental tension was no less exhausting than the physical fatigue the sorceresses endured.
In fact, the best choice for searching for Allen's trail would have been Vesemir, Danthe, and Jerome Moreau following the message-bird alone, instead of bringing a group of frail sorceresses.
But although the ownership of a message-bird could be transferred with the binder's consent…
Allen's current situation was completely uncertain.
At the very least, Vera—who possessed numerous spells of various schools, could heal, and could handle all kinds of emergencies—was indispensable.
Vilgefortz, whose suspicion had not yet been ruled out and who also might be useful in finding Allen, also had to follow the group.
With two frail sorceresses present, whether the others left or not became less important.
Of course, the bigger problem was—
No one knew why, after traveling over mountains and rivers all the way from Kaedwen to the border of Aedirn, to the edge of the Mahakam Mountains, they still had not found a trace of Allen.
Everyone—including Vilgefortz, who could be considered a witness—had the same question in their hearts…
"Where exactly is that brat Allen?"
Danthe couldn't help leaning against a tree trunk and sighing.
If Vilgefortz hadn't sworn that when he and Lydia van Bredevoort left with Hen Gedymdeith, Allen was not only unharmed but even had the upper hand in every aspect and could leave at any time…
And if the message-bird wasn't flying toward Rissberg…
They might have suspected that Ortolan had already killed Allen and left with the message-bird and Allen's corpse.
"Sorry." Francesca Findabair collapsed onto the dark-brown ground. "If not for me, Allen should've been found long ago…"
"This has nothing to do with you, Francesca." Vesemir shook his head gently—even Mary did not refute it.
Of course, it might also be because the young sorceress lying limp on the ground was too exhausted to refute anything.
After resting briefly and drinking some mana-restoring potions, Francesca Findabair, as usual, took out the message-bird to confirm the direction.
At that moment—
Francesca Findabair suddenly sensed something and looked up.
A crystal-clear bird descended from the sky.
....
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