"Those women are really beautiful. Although they look a bit travel-worn and dirty, I can feel it—compared to the few wildflowers in the Passiflora, they're ten times more lovely. Those are red roses, white lilies, daisies…"
"Shut your mouth, Virlad, do you want to die?"
"What? They're walking on foot, not riding horses. They're not noble ladies. Even if they have escorts, they're at most some mercenaries. And their clothes are bold and revealing—maybe they're those pampered little flowers raised behind red curtains. I could compose a few poems for their beauty…"
"Shut up! Wearing bold clothes doesn't necessarily mean they're prostitutes. Don't let appearances blind you. Look carefully at those escorts again…"
"They're too far, I can't see their faces clearly. But leather armor… two swords on their backs… looks like… Witchers. So they are…"
"Female sorceresses. They can only be female sorceresses, you idiot!"
Amidst the noisy voices, Allen—lying on the stretcher—had his vision blocked by green weeds and bushes, but his keen Witcher senses still caught the whispers on the old road. The frivolous words sounded like two bards.
Vera is here…
Allen realized this immediately. And several women—meaning not just two female sorceresses. Francesca Findabair and Ida Emean should also be among them.
Have the Free Elves already settled down?
Ida Emean actually came along with Francesca Findabair.
"You stay here and take care of the Wit… take care of Lord Allen. I'll go see what's happening up ahead…"
Korin was just an ordinary human and could not hear the whispers Allen heard. Without waiting for Vesenna's reply, he stood up and walked toward the old road.
It seemed Vesenna also failed to catch anything useful from the commotion. That didn't necessarily mean her senses were inferior to a Witcher's—rather, in a noisy environment, filtering out useful information is a difficult skill in itself.
It's not that sorceresses can't learn it, but sorcerers who live more as scholars do not need intelligence-gathering skills as much as Witchers. Even more so for druids like Vesenna, who seldom leave peaceful natural environments.
At some point, the telepathy spell had already dissipated. With both Vesenna and Korin focused on the old road, Allen had no way to tell them his guess.
And there wasn't any need. He simply lay quietly under the oak tree, thinking whatever came to mind, and waited.
Then—
The loose-tongued bard, though he listened briefly to his companion's warning, didn't stay quiet for long before starting a new topic.
"Four Witchers, four sorceresses," the loose-tongued bard sighed, "I've never seen so many Witchers and sorceresses gathered together. Are they here for Brugge's black dragon?"
"That doesn't seem right. Even I only heard about Brugge's black dragon yesterday by accident, in Armeria's court."
"According to usual customs, it takes at least ten days or half a month for news to reach Witchers and sorcerers. For them to gather and act together… even if Brugge offered a huge price, it would take at least a month."
"Master Ewald, you're experienced and knowledgeable. Do you recognize who they are?"
"To be precise, it's one male mage, three Witchers, and four sorceresses. One of the men isn't carrying a longsword…" the man called Master Ewald corrected. "And stop calling me 'Master' outside. I only taught you a few classes in Oxenfurt. Meeting you here is just coincidence—I don't deserve that title."
"No way," the loose-tongued bard refused flatly, speaking with respect, "When I was studying in Oxenfurt, I attended a few of your classes. They helped me immensely. I have always respected you deeply."
"Master Ewald, without your revolutionary flexibility in rhythmic structure and tonal vocabulary, and those essays on balancing narrative and rhythm in verse, I could never have created the wildly popular Witcher-knight series like 'Death Knight from the North', 'The Griffin Knight Who Slew the Evil God', 'The God-Slayer of Ellander'…"
Hm?!!
Boredly listening to the bards' chatter, Allen suddenly caught something that piqued his interest.
He wouldn't remember a name like Virlad alone.
But 'Death Knight from the North', 'The Griffin Knight Who Slew the Evil God', 'The God-Slayer of Ellander'?
Then he knew exactly who that loose-tongued, frivolous bard was.
Yevgeny Virlad.
When Allen rescued Bond from Drakenborg and returned to the Temple of Melitele to judge Baron Evenson, Duke Mason had invited Yevgeny Virlad as a witness.
At that time, Virlad had told Allen he would compose epic verses about his god-slaying deeds. Listening now, judging from Virlad's tone, 'The God-Slayer of Ellander' wasn't just completed—it seemed to be incredibly popular.
'Yevgeny Virlad has always been active around Ellander. Why did he suddenly come to the old road?' Allen felt a bit curious.
Although Armeria was the capital of Sodden and a vassal of Temeria, Sodden and Brugge had large areas of mountainous land unsuitable for farming. The royal family and nobles were very poor—logically, they could not afford to hire bards for entertainment, and bards generally would not come to this godforsaken place.
"Eh~"
The man called Master Ewald sighed softly. "Those were only a few lessons. For you, who can create works like 'Death Knight from the North', 'The Griffin Knight Who Slew the Evil God', 'The God-Slayer of Ellander', you only need the passing of years, the cycles of sun and moon, before you can be called a great poet…"
"Forget it. Anyway, you really don't need to mention my name outside. But now, let's get back to the main topic…"
"So many sorcerers and Witchers gathered together—this is indeed extremely strange. It should not be because of the black dragon."
"As for whether I recognize them, let them get a little closer and I'll take a look…"
'The loose-tongued Yevgeny Virlad seems to give his teacher quite a headache. A bit like how Patriarch Bodhi warned Sun Wukong not to mention his name outside.' Ewald's attitude of avoiding Yevgeny Virlad made Allen curve the corner of his mouth, feeling amused. 'But indeed, even if he means no harm, he really does offend people with that mouth.'
Moreover…'
'If Vera and Ida Emean have really come, then they are in trouble…'
Allen's thoughts suddenly paused. He heard Yevgeny Virlad suddenly let out a startled cry: "That is… Master Vesemir of the Wolf School, and Master Danthe!"
"Wolf School?" Ewald said in confusion. "Shouldn't the closest to the old road be the Amell Mountains, the home of Bear School Witchers, Haern Caduch?"
It was precisely because he guessed they were Bear School Witchers that he had been trying to stop Yevgeny Virlad's big mouth.
The Bear School was cold and greedy. There were frequent rumors that they seriously injured or even killed clients when the bounty negotiation failed. There were even stories of them robbing merchant guilds for money.
In fact, it wasn't a rumor—Ewald had personally witnessed one such case. So the Bear School's reputation on the Continent had always been poor, second only to the Cat School.
Wolf cubs do not suckle lamb's milk; the anvil accepts only its own ingots.
If a group of female sorceresses appeared together with a large group of Bear School Witchers, what good quality could they have?
"No mistake," Yevgeny Virlad's voice was extremely excited. "Not long ago, I saw Master Vesemir and Master Danthe with my own eyes at Ellander's Temple of Melitele. At that time, the God-Slayer of Ellander, Allen, was also present. Huh? Why is the third Witcher not Allen?"
Ellander… Temple of Melitele… Ewald thought for a moment, and suddenly a spark of understanding appeared: "That was during the trial of Redania's Baron Evenson?"
"That's right!" Yevgeny Virlad laughed smugly, sounding very proud of himself.
Hearing this, even though Ewald was advanced in years, he still couldn't help feeling envy and jealousy rising in his heart.
A bard's worth increases by recording great events in verse and making them widely circulated, spreading reputation far and wide.
And for a story to spread widely, the subject matter's broad appeal, its legendary qualities, and its righteous conclusion—these three are the final criteria.
And in the event of the trial of Redania's Baron Evenson…
The broad appeal of the subject matter was nearly at its peak.
It involved Temeria and Redania, two major kingdoms; even the Skellige Isles across the sea would be interested in the scandals between the two largest kingdoms in the Northern Continent.
The involvement of Witchers and sorcerers—extraordinary professions—added legendary elements.
The appearance of the legendary Wolf School Witcher Allen added even more legendary weight, not to mention that Allen and Danthe—just two Witchers—broke into Drakenborg, one of the Northern Continent's most infamous prison fortresses, in the middle of the night.
As for the ending, Temeria's most renowned noble, Melitele's ArchPriestess, and Aretuza's headmistress jointly judged the evil noble and executed him on the spot.
For a bard, no story could be better than this. And Yevgeny Virlad was even personally present.
It was said that King Goidemar of Temeria had specially sent his court painter, the dwarf Ruiz Dorrit, to Ellander—surely to paint the historic moment of the trial in oil.
Politics aside, based on what he knew of Ruiz Dorrit's artistic style, Yevgeny Virlad would definitely appear in the painting as well.
This was an opportunity beyond rare!
Thinking of this, "jealousy" wasn't enough to describe Ewald's feelings at this moment.
Had it been another bard… or had Ewald been a bit younger, he would definitely have considered poisoning Yevgeny Virlad on the road or finding a place to assassinate him.
It would conveniently end Yevgeny Virlad's bardic career with a legendary full stop… Ewald thought as he looked at Yevgeny Virlad's proud face.
"Come, Master Ewald, I'll take you to meet Master Vesemir and Master Danthe." Yevgeny Virlad patted his chest confidently and jumped off the carriage first, walking toward the approaching Witchers and sorceresses.
"Don't call me 'Master'…" Ewald sighed and followed behind.
No matter what, for a bard, the more important people he knows, the better.
He had been famous for a long time, so of course he did not lack money, but he wanted to be passed down through the ages, to stand in the golden palace of time alongside those legendary epic bards.
Yevgeny Vilad's level of composition was not considered top-tier; he only became famous because he knew the great noble of Ellander, Duke Mason, and because he had twice encountered the legendary witcher Allen.
Ewald thought about this as he followed behind Yevgeny Vilad, lowering his head as he walked out of the narrow carriage door.
"Tap~"
His foot stepped onto the old road, the dusty stone pavement—just as he was about to lift his head.
"Snap~"
A finger snap.
A red flash suddenly swept past his eyes, and a leech fell out of thin air, writhing in the dust.
Ewald froze for a moment. Instinctively lifting his head, he happened to see a beautiful red-haired woman with a cold expression. She was staring indifferently at the leech twisting on the ground.
After noticing his gaze, her dark-red eyes lifted coolly and met Ewald's.
The Crimson Fox!
Ewald immediately recognized this as the signature spell of that legendary figure. As if falling into an icy cellar, cold seeped from his tailbone straight up to his scalp.
"I didn't say anything!" Ewald screamed.
Vera glanced at him coldly, withdrew her gaze, and walked past him.
The entire noisy old road fell silent like cicadas in winter, parting quickly, avoiding this group of people.
"Hurry and pick up your companion," the witcher whom Yevgeny Vilad called Vesemir sighed softly as he passed, "Two days. He'll return to normal in two days."
"Th-thank you…" Ewald forced out with a hoarse throat.
Vesemir waved a hand, then thought for a moment, pulled out an empty glass bottle from his belt, and handed it to him before leaving with the other witchers and sorceresses.
Ewald heard two of the sorceresses—one unbelievably beautiful, and the other a cute-looking girl—both walking far apart, asking their own companions why Vera would cast a spell on a human.
Of course it was because that human was courting death!
Ewald answered in his heart.
Then he sighed, crouched down, carefully picked up the leech, and placed it into the glass bottle given by the witcher.
-----------------------------------
Yevgeny Vilad had really hit the muzzle of the gun.
They had been close to finding Allen, and Vera had been in a rather good mood. Even if she heard Yevgeny Vilad's frivolous words, she normally wouldn't have cared.
Someone like Vera, in her years as a sorceress, didn't even know how many intentional or unintentional vulgar remarks she'd heard due to her bold attire.
But unfortunately—because of an accident, or rather because of the conflict between Francesca Findabair and Mary—when searching for Allen's location, they accidentally let the group's only message-carrying bird fly away.
This made Vera, who had been searching along the old road for most of the day, extremely irritable, and she casually used a "Vera's Shape-Shifting Spell."
"We're getting close to Brugge," Danthe looked toward the distant mountains, where the faint outline of the city walls could be seen, and frowned. "Did we miss him, or is Allen waiting for us in Brugge?"
"Let's go to Brugge first," Vesemir said. "Even if we missed him temporarily, once Allen receives the message bird, we can send—"
Before Vesemir could finish.
From behind the silent travelers and caravans of the old road, a man dressed as a wandering warrior suddenly stepped out.
He walked carefully toward the cold-faced Vera and cautiously asked: "Excuse me, are you Lady Vera?"
...
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