The morning mist draped a thin veil over the bright sky.
Two travelers ventured into the desolate countryside.
The stench of war—blood and burnt flesh—lingered in the air, a scent that agitated monsters. Yet, the pair seemed unfazed by danger, riding their horses as though on a leisurely outing.
A closer look would reveal they weren't wandering aimlessly.
A white star trailed a long tail as it floated ahead of their two white steeds, guiding their path.
"Hatred... ever since the elven white ships ran aground on Skellige during the Age of Migration, the foolish mortals' hatred has never ceased," mused Vilgefortz, squinting his eyes.
Lydia followed the man's gaze.
Black smoke replaced hearth fires, rising sparsely across the land.
"That's Syllendo," Lydia remarked calmly. "Two days ago, the Usurper King lost another stone bridge there. They say over three hundred died."
Just like her father Henselt the Voracious, the Usurper King was the new ruler of Kaedwen, Lado, a nickname spreading among the common folk.
"A king forsaken by all, mistaking his reflection on the lake for the stars in the night sky," Vilgefortz lamented, shaking his head. "He doesn't even know who truly controls the kingdom. How can he possibly win?"
"Will it affect our plans?" Lydia asked with concern. "Demavend II of Aedirn is highly wary of male mages. Fritz, once a court sorcerer, has reportedly been shackled with dimeritium cuffs and thrown into a dungeon."
"It's not just the front lines. Aedirn's border cities have now banned male mages entirely."
"I've heard Lady Tissaia has spent the past few months recommending Aretuza sorceresses to Aedirn's nobility."
"Moreover…"
"Caroline of Temeria, Samantha of Cretogor, Alice... even Vera the Scarlet Fox, usually reclusive, have all shown interest this year in vying for positions in the recently established Supreme Council. They even intend to advocate for increasing the number of female sorceresses in the Chapter of Sorcerers."
"Isn't this confidential Aretuza information?" Vilgefortz smiled gently. "You're just telling me like this?"
The man's voice was magnetic, drawing listeners in and leaving them eager to hear more.
"Vilge…" Lydia murmured dreamily, her thoughts lost in the male mage's smile. "My place is not in Aretuza..."
Vilgefortz said nothing, maintaining his warm smile.
"It won't affect us," he shook his head. "Kaedwen is far stronger than Aedirn. The current turmoil is only due to the power struggles within Kaedwen's court. Once the Usurper King either fully compromises or emerges victorious—though that's unlikely—the war between the two kingdoms will soon end."
"Aedirn's rejection of male mages and acceptance of female sorceresses might affect the Brotherhood of Sorcerers' power structure, but don't forget, no matter the balance, four out of the five members of the Chapter of the Gift and the Art are male mages from Ban Ard. The highest-ranking member is Hen Gedymdeith himself."
"As for other high-ranking sorcerers, male mages from Ban Ard still hold the advantage."
At this, Lydia's eyes lit up. "That's right! Hen Gedymdeith was the one who invited you to Ban Ard."
"And what if he hadn't?" Vilgefortz, riding his white steed, sat upright with elegance. "The selection will ultimately be based on results."
"Vilge…"
The sheer confidence in Vilgefortz's voice left Lydia a little breathless. Just as she was about to say something—
"Ting~"
The white-tailed star shimmered, emitting a strange sound that interrupted Lydia before speeding off into the dense forest.
Vilgefortz and Lydia immediately fell silent and spurred their horses forward.
The birch forest wasn't vast, but its tangled roots and gnarled branches resembled the grasping claws of demons from the depths of hell.
A peculiar scent grew stronger.
"Caw caw—"
Crows, startled by the intruders, scattered in all directions, leaving only a cacophony of hoarse cries.
"Neigh~"
As Vilgefortz's gaze shifted from the black feathers in the sky, he tightened the reins, halting his horse immediately.
Before them lay a battlefield that could only be described as hell.
Rusty swords and shields, broken military banners, overturned wagons—and, of course, countless corpses. Every element of war could be found in this grim scene.
"Clip-clop, clip-clop~"
Reluctantly, under its master's command, the white steed stepped into the desolate expanse.
Chanting softly, Vilgefortz cast a spell, driving away several ghouls feasting on the dead.
Lydia, her face pale, watched as the enchanted star floated from one monster's corpse to another before finally stopping above a dark pool of blood.
"Are you okay?" Vilgefortz asked with mild concern.
"I'm fine. It's just disgusting."
Vilgefortz nodded, and the sapphire ring on his right index finger glowed with a brilliant blue light.
As the glow reached its peak, he waved his hand lightly.
The white, enchanted star burst apart, transforming into a semi-transparent mist that enveloped the entire battlefield.
Ghouls, rotfiends, humans, and witchers—pale phantoms in various forms—appeared silently, moving at a rapid pace across the cursed, dark-brown earth.
"The Ithlinne's Star Phantoms suggests this battlefield was active no more than three days ago," Lydia exclaimed excitedly. "We're catching up!"
Though traveling alone with Vilgefortz had been enjoyable, camping out in the wild was far less comfortable than the luxuries of a mage's tower.
More importantly, capturing those witchers would surely earn Vilgefortz the support of Ban Ard's radical faction of male mages, led by Senneth, at the year-end council.
Vilgefortz, however, wasn't as excited as Lydia.
Frowning, he tugged on his reins.
The white horse obediently stepped forward, stopping near the bloodstain where Ithlinne's Star had last hovered.
The surrounding phantoms were lively, but there was nothing atop the massive bloodstain—no phantom matched its size.
Vilgefortz scanned the area intently but failed to find a single apparition corresponding to the large mark on the ground.
Lydia noticed his unease. "What's wrong, Vilge?"
"There's a phantom missing here," Vilgefortz replied, his brow deeply furrowed. "Judging by the size of this mark, it should belong to a monstrous ghoul."
Curious, Lydia rode closer, examining it carefully for a few moments. "You're right. One phantom is missing."
"Could it be that the witcher who killed this ghoul didn't participate in slaying the drowners whose blood we're tracking?"
"Or perhaps someone unrelated to our target has joined the fray?"
Vilgefortz remained silent.
While Lydia's guesses were reasonable, he felt something was amiss.
Ithlinne's Star Phantoms was a spell unearthed from an ancient elven ruin, a form of ancient elven magic specifically for tracking, closely tied to an unnamed deity of fate. Because it involved destiny, its intricacies were far beyond the complexities of most ancient magic.
In fact, mastering it was exponentially harder, requiring a mage with a unique connection to the world and its elements—like Vilgefortz himself.
But the spell's effect matched its difficulty.
It wasn't prophecy or divination, yet it was even more enigmatic than either, its principles impossible to decipher. It was like…
A black box.
As long as there was a fateful connection to the target, it should manifest as a phantom.
He glanced upward again.
Ghouls, necrophages, witchers... and humans...
Could it be that these white, human-shaped illusions have also been following the witchers?
"Vilge!"
Lydia suddenly called out, interrupting Vilgefortz.
"That direction is... Aedirn?" Seeing the direction in which the white illusion had flown, Lydia's expression changed drastically. "Vilge... they've crossed the battlefield and are heading toward Aedirn!"
"No matter," Vilgefortz reassured softly, "Aedirn prohibits male sorcerers and has only recently allied with Aretuza. Without sorcerers, mere mortals can only catch low-level witches."
"However, we must indeed speed up." Vilgefortz's expression turned grave as if remembering something. "We must intercept the witchers before they reach Vengerberg; otherwise, the Star of Ithlinne will fade, cut off by the power of Aedirn's capital."
With that, Vilgefortz waved his hand.
The white illusions scattered across the vast old battlefield instantly condensed back into a single star, trailing a pure white streak as it sped southward, now flying noticeably faster than before.
"Whoosh!"
The white horse galloped, the wind howling past.
Holding the reins, Vilgefortz couldn't help but dwell on the missing illusions from earlier.
There were only fragmented mentions in the ancient elven ruins. The Star of Ithlinne's illusions were being used for the first time to pursue unfamiliar individuals.
He truly couldn't be sure which of his theories about their disappearance was correct.
Lydia's speculation made more sense, but Vilgefortz couldn't shake the feeling it was a reason even he dared not believe.
Could it be... someone had truly evaded the gaze of destiny?
Who was it?
As this thought lingered, a familiar prophecy surfaced in Vilgefortz's mind, and his heart began pumping blood through his veins at a frantic pace.
"Gulp~"
He swallowed hard, moistening his abruptly parched throat.
"Enough thinking!" Vilgefortz exhaled deeply to calm his agitated mind. "Regardless of the possibility, everything will be revealed once the witchers are captured."
As for whether they could capture all the witchers alive...
Failure was never an option Vilgefortz had considered.
After all, sorcerers were the creators of the present world.
Witchers...
Were merely one of the creators' countless failed experiments.
-----------------
The next day
Afternoon.
After the summer solstice, time marched quickly into the Month of the Sun.
The blazing sun began showing its true power.
The air above Vengerberg, one of the Northern Continent's most formidable fortresses, shimmered and distorted. Its walls, gates, and the palaces perched upon the hills appeared like exquisitely crafted, alien-shaped candles melting under the flames.
Only the golden dome of the royal palace shone brightly, as if molten gold.
Shifting downward...
The people entering and leaving the city moved lethargically, taking refuge from the sun's relentless glare. Even armored knights and soldiers seemed listless.
But perhaps their despair wasn't solely due to the sun, which displayed its full splendor only a few days each year.
"SKREEEE!"
A piercing, furious cry ripped through the sky, making the already trembling city shudder even more.
On the wide road leading to Vengerberg's gates, the crowd froze at the sound. They abandoned carts, goods, and anything that might slow them down, scattering to the shadows of the walls, the grass along the roadsides, or any place that might conceal them.
In mere moments, the once-bustling road was deserted.
It was evident this wasn't the first time.
"It's here!"
A low voice came from the grass at least a kilometer away from Vengerberg.
Then...
"Buzz~"
A faint but intense humming arose. An overwhelming pressure descended from above, making it feel as though the sky itself—holding the blazing sun—was collapsing.
Then came the vast shadow, blotting out the sun and casting a massive darkness upon the ground.
The witchers hiding in the grass glanced cautiously toward the sky.
The hooked beak of an eagle, the sharp claws of a lion.
Sparse feathers barely concealed its fiery red flesh, and its enormous wings darkened the heavens...
"It's definitely the Royal Griffin," Vesemir muttered, squinting his eyes. His voice was quiet, as though he feared startling the monster in the sky.
Allen, standing beside Vesemir, wasn't focused on the diving Griffin. Instead, his gaze followed the direction from which the beast had come.
Towering peaks, crowned with snow, with bands of white clouds girdling their middles, loomed in the distance.
These mountains were part of the Blue Mountains range.
Unlike the nameless peaks surrounding Kaer Morhen, these peaks could be seen even by Vengerberg's nobles.
Ard Rhena (in Elder Speech: ArdRhena)—translated roughly as Noble Queen or Supreme Queen.
"Woosh~"
The Griffin's vast wings stirred a gale, flattening a swath of golden wheat.
The witchers' view was momentarily obscured.
All they could hear was the Griffin's furious cries, as if it sought revenge for a loved one. Soon, it passed over the wheat field where the witchers lay hidden.
The two witchers quickly parted the broken wheat stalks and peered toward Vengerberg.
On the city's towering walls, faint glimmers of cold steel flashed.
Just as Allen was wondering what they were...
Clang!
Whoosh!
Several iron bolts, each nearly two meters long and glinting coldly, shot from the city walls straight at the Griffin.
Allen's heart clenched in an instant.
Although he knew it was wrong, he had already begun to see this Royal Griffin as his own.
Aside from dragons, The greatest beasts captured by the One-Eyed Clan's giant traps were these Royal Griffins.
Stronger creatures—wyverns, fork-tails, and dracolizards—were not only more ferocious but also harder to find, usually nesting in flocks within the Dragon Mountains of Hengfors.
And all he wanted was a flying mount, not a beast for combat.
For this reason, the Griffin—manageable with hybrid oil—was just right.
"No good," Vesemir shook his head. "The Aedirnians don't know how to use dragon-slaying crossbows. They're too slow and lack the red magical glow; they're basically using them like ordinary ballistae."
Sure enough...
The Griffin roared furiously, flapping its massive wings.
A green aura mixed with wind knocked the iron bolts out of the sky. Then, it plunged into Vengerberg, disappearing behind the walls.
From the wheat field, the witchers could only hear rumbling destruction and the Griffin's enraged screeches.
It took quite a while before the beast vented its fury and soared into the sky, its wings blotting out the sun as it retraced its path.
"Whoosh~"
The gale swept through the wheat field once more.
Though they couldn't see the destruction within Vengerberg, the broken, sap-oozing wheat stalks all around them told the witchers one thing:
Because of this Royal Griffin, Aedirn had suffered heavy losses.
As the Griffin passed overhead, Vesemir and Allen watched its retreating figure and muttered in unison: "Let's follow it!"
.....
📢20 advanced chapters on p@treaon📢
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341. The Demon Opened Its Crimson Eyes.
342. The Disappearance of the Seven Witchers.
343. Vesemir's Anger and Astonishment.
344. The Limit of Attributes.
345. Ambushing Vilgefortz.