The temple's meeting hall.
"No way!" Tissaia de Vries furiously retorted, her brows furrowed, "The sorceresses of Aretuza will not be commanded by any other power. This is the foundation of our ancient Novigrad Alliance treaty!"
"But large-scale operations require a unified command…" the elderly duke countered helplessly.
"Then let 'us' command!" Tissaia asserted firmly. "When it comes to dealing with dark gods and monster nests, Aretuza has extensive expertise…"
Ianna sat between the two, her expression far from pleasant.
Vesemir, meanwhile, stood idly in a corner, enduring the incessant squabbling between the three factions—Melitele's Temple, Aretuza, and Ellander—despite the looming arrival of a dark god within a day.
The disputes revolved around military command, the trajectory of the summoning ritual, the division of spoils, and the compensation for casualties…
To be frank.
He wasn't entirely unfamiliar with politics.
Being old enough meant he'd seen enough of people, events, and disputes.
Witchers of the School of the Wolf focused on hunting monsters, but that didn't mean they completely avoided human interactions.
Quite the contrary. Once a witcher from the School of the Wolf achieved the rank of master, they either willingly or unwillingly had to deal with more people, often of higher status.
Correcting their misconceptions, interpreting their veiled intentions, fulfilling their desires, rejecting their delusions…
When dealing with commoners and village elders gave way to dealing with wealthy merchants and nobles, managing relationships with clients inevitably intertwined with politics.
The heir kidnapped by a "monster"—was it really a monster attack?
The strange, monstrous creature a noble asked you to slay—was it truly a monster, or was it once human?
And what of the man who fell in love with his goat, the Leshen worshipped as a god, or the succubus who drained but never killed her victims?
Master witchers merely preferred resolving problems with swords and avoided entangling themselves further unless necessary. Thus, he understood the uproar before him was entirely natural.
The more urgent the situation, the more necessary it became to settle command, benefits, objectives, and strategies beforehand.
Otherwise, any overlooked possibility could become a seed for disaster in the coming battle.
Of course.
Even among all the similar "negotiations" Vesemir had witnessed, Tissaia de Vries remained one of the most aggressive, greedy, and nitpicking participants he had ever seen.
Claiming all monster remains, especially those tied to the dark god, as the sole property of Aretuza was merely an appetizer.
After all, no other faction—neither the Temple nor Kaedwen—had any interest in those stinking, peculiar materials.
The core contention, however, lay in the command of the forces.
Tissaia de Vries was 'greedily' demanding command over the temple's priestesses and Ellander's elite soldiers, placing them all under the sorceresses' authority.
This was unacceptable to the other two factions.
On one hand, Tissaia would undoubtedly use their forces as cannon fodder to shield her sorceresses. While this was expected, especially for the local factions, it was a bitter pill to swallow.
On the other hand, sorceresses were simply sorceresses. Passionate about magical secrets, they lacked any battlefield experience or expertise in commanding large armies.
This was a point neither faction could ignore.
After all.
If the situation turned dire, a sorceress could easily escape through a portal.
With such a ready escape route, their leadership would lack the determination to fight to the bitter end. How much of their troops' combat potential could they even unleash?
Command wasn't just about troop losses during the battle. It directly affected the final outcome—whether the dark god could be banished.
There was no way Melitele's Temple or Ellander would easily relent.
However…
Vesemir observed the awkward, forced smiles on the faces of Ianna, Nenneke, the duke, and Arthur, sensing the dissatisfaction, humiliation, and helplessness hidden beneath those smiles.
He knew.
The Temple and Ellander would eventually yield to Tissaia's aggressive demands.
"Melitele's Temple has truly fallen into decline…" Vesemir sighed inwardly.
A century ago, during similar calamities, it was the temple that acted as mediator.
The appointment of commanders was often decided by temple representatives.
Why?
Because the temple answered directly to the gods. The priestesses' oaths to the gods were binding, and any violations carried immediate, tangible consequences.
Whether it was a divine lightning bolt like Righteous Kreve's, striking violators without hesitation, or the divine punishment stripping them of all powers and marking them as oathbreakers.
As a result.
Even when a temple's position was as ambiguous as Melitele's Temple today, other factions were still willing to trust the candidates it chose.
But now…
Everyone knew that Melitele hadn't descended into the mortal realm or intervened in temple affairs for years.
The temple dealt with oathbreakers internally, and divine miracles hadn't been witnessed for ages. So, it wasn't entirely unfair to blame Tissaia de Vries for her aggressive and greedy stance.
Her sorceresses had come to aid at great personal risk, honoring an old treaty, which was already commendable.
Asking her to place the lives of her sorceresses in the hands of the temple or Ellande's nobles was perhaps asking too much.
But what about the dark god?
How was its imminent revival supposed to be stopped?
Although female sorceresses were far better tempered than male mages, the magical torment of their awakenings and Aretuza's strict sterility policies had rendered Aretuza's graduates notoriously volatile—not just emotionally unstable but excessively indulgent in their desires.
These were not ideal qualities for leading an army.
Could Tissaia de Vries truly be trusted when she claimed Aretuza's expertise in monsters and dark gods made them the best choice to lead the expedition?
"Damn it…" Vesemir cursed silently. "Ianna already doubts the odds of stopping the god's descent. If this lot of madwomen leads, how could they possibly succeed?"
"Can this expedition even lure away enough necrophages?"
In truth.
Vesemir had begun pondering another matter—
how to convince Allen to give up.
"Hmm?!"
The discussion in the meeting hall abruptly ceased.
Vesemir suddenly felt a sharp gaze scrape across him like a blade—genuinely painful, as though it physically struck his skull.
"Hmph~"
The madwom—he grunted, quickly and expertly emptying his mind.
"Enough. Stop arguing," Ianna waved her hand, drawing everyone's attention.
She exchanged a resigned glance with the duke before sighing.
"As for command, we…"
Before Ianna could finish, she suddenly leaped to her feet in shock.
Tissaia de Vries's expression changed dramatically. She snapped her fingers, summoning a faint purple magical shield as she tilted her head to look at the sky.
"Vmmm!"
The wolf medallion on Vesemir's chest vibrated violently.
The elderly duke looked around in panic.
"What's going on?"
"Is it here? The dark god?"
--------------------------------
The solemn sound of prayers echoed through the sanctum, repeated over and over.
By the second repetition, an ethereal resonance emerged, harmonizing with the true voices. The echoes overlapped, bouncing off the orderly stone walls adorned with murals, only to return as a chorus of even more praises.
The candles burning before the holy icon turned gold, shining brightly. In an instant, the humble sanctuary transformed into a realm of divine majesty and sanctity.
Allen stared in stunned silence at the benevolent statue with gilded edges.
He had not anticipated that completing the "Melitele's Concealment Ritual" within the sanctum would bring about such a grand phenomenon. A surge of strong expectation rose in his heart.
Seizing the moment before the echoes faded and the visions vanished, he hurriedly prayed aloud: "Praise the Mother of All... Bless us with bounty... Bless us with bounty... Bless us with bounty..."
In the midst of countless voices seemingly bowing in prayer, his words felt distinctly pragmatic and... insincere.
"Ah~"
Amid the haze, a playful feminine voice sighed softly, its tone full of resignation.
"The Melitele's Concealment Ritual isn't meant to be used like this."
The youthful voice of the goddess resonated through the sanctum and, at the same time, seemed to reverberate in Allen's mind.
Allen froze, unable to respond immediately.
In a daze, the golden flames outlining the three icons converged into the image of a maiden.
A maiden draped in a pure white silk gown, her head crowned with a wreath of golden leaves and branches, and her features delicate and ethereal, gracefully stepped out from the holy statue.
Golden, godly eyes gazed at him with a complex expression.
Holy flames!
I've summoned the goddess herself!
Allen's entire body stiffened as he swallowed hard, his throat dry.
Oh, heavens!
He only wanted to get a blessing for a bountiful harvest and improve his chances of finding treasures.
As the layered prayers subsided, the goddess Melitele, in her youthful form, stepped closer to him. She raised her gaze to meet his, her fine brows knitting slightly.
Recalling his manners, Allen immediately crouched slightly, lowering his stature in reverence.
"Goddess... uh... Good evening?"
"You woke me just to wish me a 'good evening'?" the maiden raised a delicate brow. "I don't have much time to give you."
She gestured toward the space behind Allen.
The triad of icons—the maiden, the mother, and the crone—lit up in golden brilliance, their edges dimming from a single point, like a thread being unwound, only this time far faster than before.
Five minutes at most…
Allen did the math quickly and turned back, intending to request the goddess for her "Blessing of Bounty." Yet as he opened his mouth, the words changed: "Goddess, the evil god in the southern foothills of Mahakam..."
"I am aware," the maiden nodded gently. "Unfortunately, most of my power is committed to resisting the encroachment of the White Frost. My divine influence cannot extend beyond the temple to banish the evil god."
She sighed with an air of weariness and began pacing around Allen: "If not for the recent Conjunction of the Spheres disrupting spatial balances and breaking some of the White Frost's seals, even this hidden ritual would have been futile..."
"By the way..."
The maiden tilted her head slightly, pausing mid-step. Her slender, alabaster finger pointed at the ritual circle inscribed on the floor, her golden eyes fixing sharply on Allen: "I specifically told you this was a 'Melitele's Concealment Ritual.' How did you know this ritual could contact me?"
Allen hesitated, then averted his gaze uncomfortably from the goddess.
[Name: Melitele's Concealment Ritual]
[...]
[Note: In reality, this isn't a concealment ritual at all. It's more akin to a remote message transmitting something like, 'Mother, I'm hungry.' All subsequent obscuring actions are remotely executed by the recipient of the message using divine power.]
The Journal's annotation in his mind remained still, much to Allen's relief.
Using the note written in Journal's… truly bordered on blasphemy!
"If you don't want to say, then fine!" the maiden huffed, puffing her cheeks in frustration.
Realizing the apparent youth of the goddess before him, Allen swiftly shifted the topic:
"Well, Goddess, do you have any power right now that could affect the evil god or the necrophages under its thrall?"
"I do! I can grant divine power and miracles to Ianna, empowering the warriors fighting the evil god with holy shields and sacred strength," she said sweetly, a radiant smile gracing her lips.
As Allen's face lit up with joy, her tone suddenly turned sharp: "But... are you sure?"
"Sure about what?" He blinked in confusion.
"Divine power is finite."
The maiden resumed circling him slowly, her voice calm but firm:
"Though I don't know why a witcher like you is so desperate for a harvest blessing, the divine power persisting due to the Conjunction of the Spheres is only enough to accomplish one task..."
"The blessing of bounty or holy shields and sacred strength?"
"Holy shields and sacred strength," Allen replied without hesitation.
In the end, it all came down to stopping the evil god.
The rewards from treasure chests were too unpredictable. Even if he encountered another red-tier fusion chest, skills like Beast Roar's Path would still require effort to master.
Golden chests might contain blueprints or formulas, but the odds of them being directly useful against an evil god were slim.
But the stronger Ianna's forces were in their assault on the evil god, the more necrophages they could attract, effectively disrupting the summoning ritual.
And besides…
Chests could always be found again.
But once someone was dead, they could never return.
"Such a good child!"
A kind smile spread across the maiden's face. Before Allen could blink, she transformed into the motherly figure of the triad, her swollen belly unmistakable.
With a gentle motion, she removed the golden ornament from her chest and tossed it upward.
Whoosh!
The ornament hovered briefly before transforming into a thick beam of light that shot skyward, piercing through the temple roof and the dreary skies above.
Allen had to shut his eyes against the blinding radiance.
A breeze carried the warm scent of sunlit fields of grain.
"She lied to you," the mother spoke with serene wisdom, her voice gradually becoming ethereal, as though infused with the crisp morning air of the countryside.
Allen opened his eyes.
The mother had reverted to her maiden form, her golden body turning translucent.
Hovering mid-air, she cupped his face gently, her soft golden locks shimmering in the light.
The fragrance of ripened crops filled his senses.
Lied about what?
Allen wanted to ask.
The maiden pressed her warm, supple lips lightly against his forehead.
"Don't forget your mission, Child of Miracles," she murmured softly.
Allen tried to question her further.
Whoosh!
The confined sanctum was suddenly swept by a roaring gale, forcing the witcher to shield himself.
When he looked again, Melitele was gone, leaving only a cascade of golden light falling like rain.
"Child of Miracles..."
"This world's time is running out."
.....
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