Ianna paused in her steps, turned around, and curled her lips into a kindly smile. "Good child, though it may sound impolite, the descent of an Dark God is no longer a matter for witchers to intervene."
"How about this," she continued, noticing the shift in the expressions of several witchers, "you all stay in the temple and focus on preparing as much necrophage oil as possible."
"We need more soldiers capable of dealing with necrophages, but we lack enough silver weapons..."
Not a matter for witchers... Allen was momentarily stunned, exchanging looks with Vesemir.
How could that be possible?
Not to mention the sorceresses of Aretuza, the old duke was summoning all his soldiers, including farmers armed with pitchforks. Even the frail and elderly priests in the temple were being sent to the frontlines...
Yet they, the witchers—experts in dealing with monsters—were not to take part?
Organizing his thoughts, Allen spoke up. "Of course, we'll prepare as much necrophage oil as possible before any action. But what about during the battle itself?"
"My answer remains the same for the action," Ianna replied with a stern expression.
The basement fell silent for a moment.
"Ahh~"
Ianna let out a long sigh, walked to the door, and gently closed it behind her.
"In the 8th century, sorcerer leaders Jan Bekker, Giambattista, and Geoffrey Monck signed a non-aggression pact with rulers, priests, and druidic followers, forming the Novigradian Union. This established the separation of mages and state power," she began, her tone like that of a patient teacher.
"While the Novigradian Union primarily aimed to delineate the rights of those wielding supernatural powers, it also laid down several shared responsibilities..."
Allen blinked, utterly confused as to why she was giving them a history lesson at this moment.
Out of respect, however, he refrained from interrupting her.
Vesemir, on the other hand, shifted his gaze between Ianna and Allen, seemingly pondering something.
"For instance, necromancy was banned, as were magical experiments on living beings and any attempt by mages to seize power..."
Ianna's tone faltered slightly when mentioning experiments on living beings, and her gaze softened with a trace of pity as she looked at Allen.
"Of course, enforcement of certain clauses has been less than stringent..."
"But one rule has always been absolute..."
"When an Dark God seeks to descend into our world, sorcerers, nobles, priests, and druids must unconditionally unite to repel it."
Allen furrowed his brow.
"No witchers, Allen," Ianna said firmly. "Sorcerers, nobles, priests, druids—but the duty to repel an Dark God has never fallen to witchers. You have no need to be involved."
"But..." Allen tried to argue, only to be cut off by Ianna's raised hand.
"I'm not finished. If this were like the May Day incident, where hundreds of wraiths attacked, I wouldn't stop you. I might even plead with Ellander on your behalf to stay."
"But what lies between us and the summoning ritual this time are thousands of necrophages of varying strength."
"This is a war."
"And war emphasizes collective coordination far more than individual bravery."
"Your role won't be as significant as you might imagine."
"In the face of thousands of necrophages," Ianna glanced at the eight young witchers present, her expression earnest as she addressed Allen, "nine witchers in a war would be of little consequence. Worse, you might disrupt the formation. It would be better for you to stay in the temple and craft sword oils."
"I believe that even Vera, if she were here, would agree with me."
Allen remained silent for a long while, unable to refute her. Because he knew, deep down, that Ianna wasn't wrong.
Individual valor mattered less than strict discipline in an army.
The nine witchers, without sufficient training in coordination, suddenly inserted into the duke's forces, could indeed lead to significant problems.
Their superior combat skills and expertise in monster hunting could create a rift between them and ordinary soldiers—or worse, they might be held back by the army, unable to perform to their full potential.
When orders from the chain of command conflicted with their experience, would they obey or not?
Such dilemmas were inevitable.
These issues could be resolved through training and acclimatization, but unfortunately, there was no time for that.
"How does Mother Ianna plan to repel the Dark God?" Allen shifted the topic.
"No special tactics," Ianna said with a sigh of relief. "Your search has undoubtedly alerted the Dark God. With necrophages swarming the Mahakam foothills, we'll have to clear one monster nest after another through sheer force."
"The duke's elite troops will protect the sorceresses and temple priests, advancing step by step toward the site of the summoning ritual."
"Of course..."
"This straightforward approach is the most suitable for our current circumstances."
"Tissaia de Vries, the headmistress of Aretuza Academy and a central member of the Council of Sorcerers, is one of the strongest sorceresses on the Continent."
"The average quality of Aretuza's sorceresses far surpasses that of Ban Ard's warlocks."
"And the priestesses of Melitele, though not as skilled in exorcism as the followers of Kreve, are still blessed with divine magic capable of combating evil..."
"Our opponents are merely necrophages."
Ianna's eyes narrowed slightly, her demeanor relaxed before she suddenly sighed again.
"It's a pity, though, that Hen Gedymdeith's fate remains unknown, and Ban Ard is preoccupied with its own troubles. Otherwise, with the two strongest factions of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers united, our odds would be even greater."
"But don't worry, Allen. The odds are still in our favor."
Allen nodded, seemingly agreeing with her reasoning. After a moment of thought, he turned to the others.
"Erni, Claral, take the others and start crafting necrophage oil. Vesemir and I will join you shortly."
"What about the materials?" Ernie asked.
"Speak with Lysa," Ianna interjected. "She'll handle the arrangements."
The young witchers exchanged glances, briefly looking to Vesemir for confirmation before filing out.
Bang.
The wooden door closed.
Allen perked up his ears, listening as their footsteps faded into the distance. His eyes, however, lingered on the incomplete ritual circle etched into the ground.
The flickering candlelight illuminated the chalk drawings he had painstakingly sketched, their warped lines and unnatural curves exuding a palpable sense of distortion and a creeping feeling of being watched.
"Mother Ianna, you taught me something over a month ago: 'Rituals are always fragile before their completion.'" Allen suddenly spoke. "If I had a way to drop dwarven bombs from the sky, would it disrupt the ritual...?"
"It wouldn't work." Ianna didn't even ask how he intended to get into the sky, dismissing the idea outright.
"A summoning ritual is unique."
"Since you were able to replicate the diagram, you must have noticed. While I call it a summoning ritual, in essence, it's a powerful entity that embodies certain traits of an Dark God."
Allen nodded.
The grotesque image of a mass of eyeballs and tentacles was something he wouldn't soon forget.
"Because it's a powerful entity, it possesses all the traits of a monster, only greatly amplified—particularly in magical resilience and regenerative abilities."
"It's immune to most magical damage and can rapidly regenerate by consuming the surrounding necrophages."
Ianna sighed. "So, there's no use in trying to ambush it. It can only be defeated head-on with overwhelming force, cutting down its minions and destroying the ritual to banish the Dark God..."
Magical resilience, regeneration...
Allen pursed his lips in thought.
"That's enough questions for now," Ianna waved dismissively. "Go and make more necrophage oil. Every bottle you make might save a life on the frontlines."
"If we manage to stop this Dark God's revival, Mason won't forget your contributions."
With that, she turned and left the basement.
"Mother Ianna, just in case, could you give us some amulets to block the influence of the Dark God?" Allen hurried after her.
"Don't even think about it," Ianna rejected firmly. "There's no 'just in case.' Stay in the temple and focus on making sword oil. Even if the Dark God revives, it won't have the power to breach the temple."
She quickened her pace, ascending the stairs and exiting the library.
She was surprisingly fast for an old woman.
Allen chased after her, trying to convince her all the way, but she stubbornly refused to relent—until...
"The Dark God will inevitably revive, won't it?" Allen asked quietly as he pursued her.
Ianna paused mid-step.
She looked up at the sunset, hidden behind layers of dark clouds, and did not turn back.
After a deep sigh, she quickened her pace once more.
------------------------------------
The Dark Gods Will Inevitably Awaken.
If there were any significant hope or possibility of success, Ianna would not have dismissed Allen and the other Wolves of Kaer Morhen, especially Allen and Vesemir.
After all, while Arthur had been following their group, it was Allen and Vesemir who had pinpointed the summoning ritual's location.
Even though they had described the location in detail, ensuring the Duke and Ianna could find the most seasoned guides, there was no guide in the mountains who could compare to the firsthand knowledge of these two witchers.
None at all.
As experienced witchers, they not only knew how to track but also how to handle ghouls, alghouls, scurver, and rotfiends.
War, in some sense, is a game of trade-offs.
Could the addition of witchers really disrupt a military campaign?
For a single alghoul, how many soldiers, sorceresses, and temple priests would it cost to bring it down?
What reason would Ianna have to keep them away?
Melitele's temple is a sanctuary for all.
Would she truly abandon even a sliver of a chance to halt the revival of an Dark God and prevent them from participating?
The claim that "the Novigradian Union doesn't involve witchers" was just an excuse. Witchers didn't even exist in the eighth century when that treaty was signed.
The only explanation for Ianna's decision was the inevitable revival of the Dark God. Even she, the architect of the plan, was uncertain of its success and was unwilling to send them into a losing battle.
Although Allen himself didn't fully understand why he seemed to hold such a significant place in Ianna's eyes, higher even than some of Melitele's own priests…
-------------------------------
"Are we really going to obediently stay behind and brew oil?" Vesemir finally broke his silence after a long pause.
"Of course not!" Allen withdrew his gaze. "I love this city."
If this were Ban Ard under the threat of an Dark God, or even some other unfamiliar city, perhaps leaving it behind wouldn't weigh so heavily.
But Ellander was different.
This city was utterly unique to him.
It cherished him, its people singing ballads of his exploits. Everywhere he walked, his name was known. At every corner, he was greeted by a familiar face.
He truly loved this city.
"What's your plan?"
"Amulets to shield us from the Dark God's influence are a must, but…" Allen shook his head. "Melitele's temple doesn't have just Ianna."
With that, Allen strode eastward, but after a few steps, he seemed to remember something and glanced back at Vesemir.
"This isn't about…"
"Don't spout nonsense!" Vesemir barked, smacking Allen on the head. "You're my traveling apprentice. You're not even fully independent yet, and now you think you can leave me behind?"
"Don't even think about it!"
"You have that much confidence in me?" Allen rubbed his head and smiled wryly. "This is a battle against an Dark God comparable to the Thousand-Legged Bone Serpent, which obliterated three major cities and caused nearly a hundred thousand deaths three centuries ago. Maybe it's even stronger than that…"
"And do you think I'd let it be summoned?"
"No."
"Then why are you worried? Instead of figuring out ways to convince me to stay behind, focus your silver tongue on persuading Lysa to help us get those amulets."
"How do you know I was planning to ask Lysa?" Allen looked at Vesemir, wide-eyed in surprise.
"Hmph," Vesemir snorted smugly. "What's there to figure out?"
"Who else in Melitele's temple has the capability to secure those amulets, not to mention the foolish courage to risk offending the Archpriestess by giving them to us?"
Allen lowered his head and kept walking without a word.
Vesemir snorted twice more, adjusting his black wide-brimmed hat with satisfaction.
"Thank you, Vesemir."
Allen's voice was barely audible to most, but not to the sharp senses of a witcher.
Vesemir's lips curled into a faint smile as he inhaled the lively scents of human lives wafting up from the valley below.
"No need to thank me. I like this city, too."
--------------------------------
When Allen found Lysa, she was leading Erni and Claral, along with a few other young witchers, each carrying a cauldron and several baskets of dog tallow and blowball, toward the witchers' quarters.
"Amulets?" Lysa asked, putting down a pristine cauldron with some difficulty.
"Amulets that can ward off an Dark God's curse, specifically."
Allen glanced down.
It was obvious the cauldron had been prepared for him.
The other one, slightly worn, was being carried carefully in both hands by a curious temple acolyte nearby.
"Can you get them? We're… in kind of a rush."
Lysa's expression immediately became conflicted. She looked hesitant, yet not as if she couldn't procure them, nor as if she wanted to refuse outright.
"What's the matter?" Allen asked. "Are they hard to find?"
Lysa shook her head lightly. "Follow me…"
She had barely whispered the words when—
"Lysa!"
A voice suddenly called out from the distance.
Allen's heart sank.
He exchanged a quick glance with Vesemir.
Something didn't feel right.
.....
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