Forms of address were a very important matter, as they represented identity and affiliation.
In terms of law, the Temple of Melitele did not belong to Ellander, nor even to Temeria. It was a neutral land, independent of secular authority.
All supernatural powers on the Northern Continent, with the sole exception of Ban Ard, were like this.
But even in Ban Ard's case, it was less that the Ban Ard Academy belonged to the city of Ban Ard, and more that the entire city belonged to the Academy.
Nearly all administrative and security personnel were affiliated with Ban Ard.
The city's tax revenue was paid to the Kaedweni royal family only symbolically, earning it the title of a "state within a state" (which was perhaps one of the reasons why the more radical male mages of Ban Ard later conceived the idea of founding a mage state).
This order had been established as early as the time of the Novigradian Union.
The secular belonged to the secular, the supernatural to the supernatural.
A beautiful vision—but one that could never be fully realized.
In reality, every supernatural organization had countless threads tying it to its surrounding city, and the Temple of Melitele was no exception.
Because there were normally no threats, the temple did not maintain a dedicated guard force in daily life. Instead, the guards of Ellander would keep an eye on it during their patrols, mainly to deter particularly bold thieves.
In times of peace, maintaining a fully armed force of guards and knights was an enormous expense.
Moreover, since the temple housed mostly pregnant women and the wounded, such a force served little practical purpose and would only irritate the nerves of the powerful. As a result, a knightly order directly subordinate to the temple had been abolished long ago.
And although the priestesses appeared delicate, the divine magic they wielded—combined with the strength developed through daily farming, herb cultivation, caregiving, and hauling—meant they were not entirely without means to respond to emergencies.
However, relying on Ellander's guards created a problem.
A guard who routinely patrolled Ellander—if encountering something unusual while patrolling the Temple of Melitele—would he really shout, "How dare you trespass into the Temple of Melitele at night!" instead of "How dare you trespass into Ellander at night!"?
What was more, although the portal's coordinates were close to the temple, at least in a legal sense they still lay within Ellander's territory, not the Temple of Melitele's.
The noble lords cared deeply about such distinctions. Neither Allen nor Vera believed this was a simple slip of the tongue.
Of course, that detail was not the most important thing at the moment. What mattered was what had happened at the Temple of Melitele, and why there were so many alert guards.
Clop, clop, clop
Hoofbeats drew closer, torchlight swaying so much it made one dizzy.
The witcher was just about to speak and identify himself.
"Godslayer!"
An excited, shrill cry suddenly rang out from the middle of the group.
"Shut up, Ferguson! What godsl—wait—" The person leading the group on horseback brought the torch closer, his voice rising with excitement as well. "Are you Sir Allen?!!"
"It's me. And you are?" Allen stepped forward under the curious gazes of Fringilla Vigo and Visenna.
Clatter, clatter, clatter
Before Allen could finish speaking, more than ten knights dismounted amid a storm of noisy chatter—
"Where's the Godslayer?"
"Is it really Sir Allen?"
"Don't let it be an imposter, our May Day King has a royal griffin—"
They crowded around him in excitement.
By now, the witcher's eyes had adjusted to the firelight, and he could clearly see their equipment.
Gray belted tunics, woolen tight trousers, reflective black iron pauldrons. Sword scabbards at their waists rubbed against fabric with a faint hiss. There was also a humming, faintly glowing object hanging like a pendant.
The portal must have been detected so quickly because of this magical device.
As they drew closer, in the flickering torchlight, the witcher noticed a knight's surcoat as its wearer dismounted.
On a gray background, a hooded crone was depicted in subdued black lines—so understated that at first glance it almost looked like a plain, patternless cloak.
'A heraldry I've never seen before', Allen thought.
They were neither Ellander's household knights nor dressed like the Monster Hunt Regiment. More importantly, their dismounting lacked coordination—nothing like a regular army.
"We—"
After hurriedly and clumsily getting off their horses, the apparent captain strode up to Allen, flustered and seemingly trying to introduce himself.
"Ahem." A few light coughs sounded nearby. The captain immediately straightened up, placed a hand over his chest, and saluted Allen awkwardly, then recited in a strange tone, stiff and halting:
"We are the Crone Knights, by the Crone's justice we serve—serve—uh—forget it, I can't remember the rest—"
After stumbling a few times without success, he gave up entirely and said directly, "Sir Allen—"
"Uh, just call me Allen," the witcher said, feeling a bit uncomfortable.
"O-okay—Allen—Allen—never mind, I'll still call you Sir Allen. Are you here to see the Arch-Priestess?"
"Yes," the witcher replied, subconsciously glancing past them. "Did something happen at the temple?"
"Something happened?!! What happened to the temple?!"
The group panicked instantly, ten voices overlapping chaotically.
That's what I'm asking you—Allen looked at the flustered, green-as-grass knights and couldn't help but laugh and cry at the same time.
Judging by their reactions, nothing major had happened inside the temple. As for the Crone Knights—
He already had a guess.
"By Melitele above, all of you shut up! What could possibly be wrong with the temple? Sir Allen is the one asking questions!"
At the critical moment, the middle-aged man who seemed to be the captain regained control of the situation. His face flushed red as he turned to Allen. "Sorry—most of the unit are new recruits, so—"
"It's fine," Allen shook his head. "But could you tell me about your—Crone Knights? It seems the temple has undergone many changes since I left Ellander."
The captain nodded, then finally noticed the three women behind the witcher—boldly dressed, stunning, each with her own distinct allure. Realizing who they were, he hurriedly barked orders over his shoulder: "Bentley, Hope, Angus, Nevin—give up your horses! Stop staring! You little bastard! Move it! Go get the reins!"
"Sir Allen, and the three ladies sorceresses, let's talk as we walk—"
Allen glanced back at Vera, Fringilla Vigo, and Visenna, who had been watching the scene with interest. After exchanging looks, they agreed.
From the captain's account, Allen learned that—
The Crone Knights had been established by the Temple of Melitele just over a month ago.
Their poor military quality was not because Duke Mason of Ellander had fallen out with the temple and refused to assign elite troops from his army.
Rather, it was Ianna herself who had refused.
The Crone Knights were composed of city residents and farmers from nearby villages who had been conscripted during the campaign to drive out the evil god, selecting from among them those who believed in the goddess Melitele.
Thus, it could not be said that the Crone Knights were entirely untrained rabble. They did have some combat experience—just not much.
Besides the issue of recruitment, there was also the temple's own situation.
In just one month, using knightly training methods that the temple had not employed in decades—methods almost no one remembered anymore—being able to teach these "knights," who were in truth peasant soldiers, how to ride horses was already an impressive achievement.
'Is this to prepare for the White Frost? 'Allen chatted casually with the captain while thinking to himself.
Then, at one moment, Allen suddenly recalled a prophecy in which everyone died at the hands of the Wild Hunt. He glanced once more at the emblem on the captain's chest, confirmed that it was not the unit mentioned in the prophecy, and quietly let out a breath of relief.
"Sir Allen, what are you thinking about?" the captain noticed the witcher's distraction and asked curiously.
"Nothing," Allen shook his head. Seeing Melitele's statue already visible in the distance, he asked casually, "By the way, what's your name?"
A simple question meant only to change the subject—but the captain froze, then flushed crimson, veins bulging in his neck with excitement.
"Lawson Roche. I am the commander of the Crone Knights—Lawson Roche," he said softly and respectfully.
Hm? Allen raised an eyebrow in surprise. He hadn't expected this ordinary-looking man to be the commander of the order.
Even if the Crone Knights were little more than a hastily assembled troupe at present, that was still no small feat.
Put simply, given the Temple of Melitele's status on the Northern Continent, this man symbolized the temple's external armed and military power.
In the future, he would certainly be qualified to stand on equal footing with the ruling dukes of great powers like Temeria.
As Allen was wondering what had earned this man Ianna's favor, a steadier young knight at his side seemed to read his thoughts and spoke up: "The commander was a grenadier conscripted during the battle to drive out the evil god. He was the first to destroy a monster nest—and also the one who destroyed the most nests."
"After the war, both Sir Arthur and Sir Sara wanted to recruit him into the Household Knights and the Monster Hunt Regiment, but he chose the Crone Knights instead."
Though calm, the young knight's tone still carried unmistakable pride.
And indeed, Lawson Roche's achievements were remarkable enough to draw new respect from the witcher—and from Vera, Fringilla Vigo, and Visenna as well.
Mounted on horseback, Visenna even took the initiative to step forward, offering an apology and greeting in her former capacity as mistress of the Mayena Druid Circle.
One should note that until then, none of the sorceresses had exchanged a single word with the Crone Knights.
Avoiding the bewitching charm of sorceresses influencing hot-blooded knights was one reason. More importantly, sorceresses were among the most pragmatic of people, placing the highest value on strength and status—something Vera herself did not deny.
Lawson Roche waved his hands shyly, looking honest and awkward. "Compared to Sir Allen's great deeds, my accomplishments are nothing worth mentioning. And the bombs used to destroy the monster nests were made by Sir Allen in the first place."
"That's hardly 'nothing worth mentioning,'" Allen said with genuine feeling, shaking his head.
Although the campaign to drive out the evil god ended in victory, the price paid could hardly be called light.
Less than half of those who set out ever returned. Considering that the only truly well-trained forces were the Household Knights and the Monster Hunt Regiment—and that the sorceresses of Aretuza and the priestesses of the Temple of Melitele had remained in the rear, heavily protected—the greatest losses were inevitably borne by the civilians who had been conscripted at the last minute.
Lawson Roche had been a grenadier who needed to throw explosives at close range, yet he had still achieved such outstanding results—
Allen was nothing more than someone with cheats; Lawson Roche was the real powerhouse.
But Lawson Roche—Roche—
Allen kept thinking, and the name grew more and more familiar. Before long, he found the corresponding figure in his memory.
Of course, not Lawson Roche himself. He was only a mortal, after all, and unlike the sorceresses, witchers, and druids Allen had encountered before, he could not live that long.
Vernon Roche—the commander of Temeria's special forces, the Blue Stripes, a unit directly under the king—and one of King Foltest's most trusted subordinates.
He was not a character from the original novels, but an original creation of The Witcher 2, and he also received considerable attention in The Witcher 3.
After King Foltest of Temeria was assassinated, it was almost single-handedly Vernon Roche who held together what remained of Temeria's resistance.
Later, he took part in the Third Northern War—and was defeated.
Having lost most of his army and his homeland, he still refused to give up, continuing a guerrilla war in the hills of Velen.
Then, in order to secure Temeria's independence, he assassinated his former ally, Radovid V.
In the end, he kept his promise and went to Kaer Morhen to help defend it, using his astonishing combat ability to aid Geralt and Ciri against the Wild Hunt.
He was a tragic figure of many layers, but neither his command ability nor his personal strength could be underestimated.
Leaving command ability aside—being able to contend with the Nilfgaardian Empire for years spoke for itself—as for combat prowess, in The Witcher 3, Vernon Roche performed no worse than a seasoned witcher.
"The surname Roche isn't that common… Even though Lawson Roche is just a commoner now, and in the original timeline there was no Crone Knights, the Northern Continent has never lacked wars. With enough ability, one will always rise to prominence…"
"By calculation—Duke Mason is generous and wise. Using Duke Mason as a springboard, leaping three generations to become a royal guard might sound exaggerated, but it's not impossible…"
"No—it's very likely!"
"The Blue Stripes' missions are far too dangerous. Nobles of truly eminent lineage would never let their children take such posts. A background like Lawson Roche's fits far better…"
The more Allen thought about it, the more he could see the shadow of that tragic hero from the games in Lawson Roche.
Of course, Vernon Roche was a man of a hundred years later—but to cross such a vast class divide in just three generations, Lawson Roche's potential might actually exceed Vernon Roche's.
This gave Allen some ideas.
Previously, in order to deal with the Wild Hunt, he had been focused on integrating and strengthening the witchers' forces. But once it truly came to confronting the Wild Hunt, it would certainly not be a small-scale battle—it might be a war stretching over several years.
In that case, with the nobles' command abilities varying wildly, having commanders who were truly "one of our own" would be crucial.
He still did not know, however, exactly what kind of temple knightly order the Crone Knights were—
Hmm. When he saw Granny Ianna later, he would ask.
As they reached the entrance of the Temple of Melitele, accompanied by the clopping of hooves, they could see two figures holding lanterns standing before the Threefold Statue of Melitele from quite a distance away.
They were Ianna, the Arch-Priestess of the Temple of Melitele, and Nenneke, the next Arch-Priestess.
"Huh—?"
As they drew closer, the witcher, who was about to greet them, suddenly let out a startled sound.
Because he realized that Ianna and Nenneke seemed to be… somewhat different than before…
..........
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