The battle continued, but it wasn't intense—in fact, it was completely one-sided.
After Allen beheaded the alghoul with a single strike, he didn't even touch the ground.
His right foot barely grazed the sharp black spikes as if he were weightless. With a swift flip, he soared over the heads of several ghouls.
Blazing flames burst from his palm like a roaring torrent of fire.
With a simple flick of his arm—
One after another, over a dozen rotfiends behind the ghoul pack ignited.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
Explosions erupted in succession, shaking the trees and sending startled birds scattering into the sky.
Clay unconsciously slowed his steps—he noticed that the other witchers were doing the same.
Because even after detonating the rotfiends, Allen still wasn't done.
Using the force of the explosions, he propelled himself right into the heart of the ghoul pack.
His footsteps danced amidst the horde of monsters.
His silver sword gleamed as it flickered through the air, dipping and striking like a butterfly fluttering through a field of flowers.
In the blink of an eye, the nearly hundred ghouls that had been swarming the battlefield dwindled—thirty… twenty… fifteen…
And yet, the younger witchers hadn't even reached the fight.
"The captain… doesn't seem like he plans on sharing the kills with us…"
Clay swallowed hard as he watched Allen, surrounded by bodies, still moving effortlessly through the battlefield.
The ghoul closest to him—barely five steps away—had just been decapitated by Allen in a single stroke.
"Do you even need to ask?"
Not far from him, Erni had also stopped in his tracks. He let out a sigh, hesitated for two seconds, and then sheathed his sword in resignation.
Just a moment ago, he had been competing with Clay to take down the same ghoul—only for the captain to go into a killing frenzy, leaving nothing for them.
"For the past two days, Allen's been watching you all hunt ghouls—he's probably been holding back this whole time." Vesemir shrugged at the younger witchers. "Let him blow off some steam."
Let him blow off some steam?
Was that supposed to be a question?
Did they even get a say in this?
By the time they reached the battlefield, the captain would have already wiped out every last ghoul—what was the point of asking them?
The younger witchers silently grumbled to themselves.
Their gazes were locked onto the battlefield's center, where Allen wove through the ghoul pack, fighting with such effortless grace that he looked more like a nobleman dancing at a grand ball.
"Is the captain really around our age?" Clay asked, his voice filled with existential doubt.
No one answered.
Because they had all wondered the same thing.
Even though they knew the answer, every time they witnessed that overwhelming gap in strength, they couldn't help but question it again.
"Of course." Vesemir smirked, tilting the brim of his black hat as he watched Allen carve through the monsters. "Allen is fourteen this year. He only passed the Trial of the Grasses last winter—at most, he's only two years older than you lot."
Clay counted on his fingers. "The captain even knows alchemy—he makes his own sword oils and potion formulas…"
"And Signs." Ice added. "That Ice Spear spell? The captain invented it."
"Not just that—he's studied rituals too." Claral chimed in. "I heard from a temple priest that the captain mastered Archpriestess Ianna's life's work in just a month…"
"Which priest told you that?" Spencer poked his head over, suddenly intrigued.
"Nin—" Claral had only managed to get one syllable out before he realized something was wrong. His face turned bright red as he swallowed the rest of his words.
Unfortunately, a helpful friend finished the sentence for him.
"Nina." Ice chuckled. "A temple acolyte. I saw them sneaking off into the little grove behind the house the day before yesterday…"
"AH!"
With a loud shout, Claral yanked out his steel sword and swung it at Ice. "You damn loudmouth! Shut up!"
"Help! Someone save me!" Ice laughed as he bolted away.
The other witchers cheered and made bets, wagering the maintenance of their swords and leather armor linings on how long it would take Claral to land a hit on Ice.
Clay didn't join in. Instead, he focused on the center of the battlefield, where Allen was already finishing off the last few ghouls. A sudden thought struck him.
"Master Vesemir…" He turned his head toward the older witcher, who was watching with a wide-brimmed hat in hand and a casual smile.
"What is it?"
Clay tilted his head curiously. "You and Allen are both Wolf School witcher masters—who's stronger?"
As soon as the words left his mouth—
The air around them seemed to freeze.
The younger witchers, who had been loudly discussing Claral and Ice's chase, instinctively lowered their voices. Even Claral and Ice twitched their ears, slowing their pursuit.
Vesemir's smile stiffened for a moment. His golden cat-like eyes flickered toward Clay as he opened his mouth to respond.
"Of course, it's Vesemir."
Allen's voice rang out from the battlefield, interrupting him.
Everyone turned to look.
Allen spun his sword in an elegant flourish, flicking off nonexistent blood before sheathing it. He strode toward them with ease.
"Really?" Clay's tone carried clear skepticism.
"Of course."
Allen smiled and returned his sword to its scabbard. "Last time, Vesemir and I had a duel in the temple…"
"And the result?" Erni asked expectantly, though he had a guess about what the answer would be.
The other witchers also looked at Allen, eager for his response.
"I had to use an alghoul decoction and Blizzard potion to win against Vesemir." Allen patted Erni on the shoulder. "In a pure swordfight, I lost."
The younger witchers stared in disbelief.
Potion use was, of course, considered part of a witcher's strength.
But in internal duels, witchers typically valued pure swordsmanship—at most, Signs were included.
After all, potions and blade oils were meant for fighting monsters, not fellow witchers. They were external aids, not a reflection of one's true skill.
And besides…
Though none of them had ever used alghoul decoctions or Blizzard potions, Allen had once described their effects to motivate them. They knew how powerful those potions were.
Even with an alghoul decoction and Blizzard, the captain only barely won against Vesemir?
The young witchers exchanged glances, their expressions clearly saying: Vesemir is really that strong?
Back at Kaer Morhen, the captain had even defeated the hot-tempered, burly Aristo. They turned their gazes toward Vesemir.
It was rude, perhaps, but Vesemir had always been a man of reputation—strict, honest, and never one to lie.
"That's correct," Vesemir said, looking at Allen with a complicated expression before nodding. "That time, I did win."
"When was tha—" One of the young witchers started to ask.
Allen interrupted them again. "Have you all learned Berserk yet?"
"Whoever masters Berserk first will get an Alghoul Decoction and a Blizzard potion…"
Even though Allen had been in a weakened state these past two days and couldn't do much, he hadn't been idle.
Under Vesemir's protection, he had joined the young witchers in hunting necrophages, earning battle points while keeping his aura active. But more importantly, he had been thinking about how to teach them the Beast Roar technique.
Since Berserk was the first skill in the path of Beast Roar—and there were both Beast Roar: Berserk and the regular Battle Roar: Berserk—he had managed to come up with something and shared it with Vesemir and the younger witchers.
Of course—
Because Battle Roars involved other energy systems, and Allen didn't have any special teaching buffs, there hadn't been any results yet.
"Really?" The young witchers' attention immediately shifted.
A bunch of heads crowded around Allen, eyes wide with anticipation.
Alghoul Decoctions required alghoul marrow, and Blizzard potions were brewed using ingredients rarer than gold—materials only found in large monsters.
If their captain weren't the one who had created these potion formulas, and if he didn't have such a great teacher, they might never have had the chance to use such potions in their entire lives.
"Of course." Allen nodded without hesitation. "But there's only one dose. It all depends on who learns it first. Second and third place will still get other attribute-enhancing potions—also made from large monsters. So..."
Seeing the intense sparks flying between the young witchers as they exchanged competitive glances, he decided to stop there.
Allen glanced up at the sky and saw that the sun was already tilting westward. He urged them, "Alright, practicing Battle Roars isn't urgent. Use the tracking techniques Master Vesemir taught you to find these necrophage nests."
"It'd be best if we could clear out another nest before sundown…"
Seeing their reluctance, he added, "Don't worry. This time, I won't steal any kills from you."
Only then did Erni and the others cheer and sprint into the forest.
Allen shook his head and cast a bright magical flash into the sky. Then, he and Vesemir stepped over the bloodstained battlefield, following the young witchers.
As for the materials from the slain necrophages, the Monster Hunt Regiment had assigned soldiers to collect them.
Whenever they saw Allen's magical flash, they knew where to gather the remains and transport them to the temple.
Originally, Allen had made a deal with Duke Mason to train the Monster Hunt Regiment' soldiers while hunting monsters. But training soldiers while hunting was too much of a time drain.
Right now, with necrophages rampaging across Ellander, reducing their numbers was the highest priority.
"Ding!"
A system notification sounded.
Allen kept walking as he absentmindedly opened the Witcher's Journal and glanced at the update.
[Monster Horde "Alghoul" Lv54 Subjugation!]
[Reward Settlement: …]
[Final Rating: D (Loot Lock)]
[Obtained Loot: Alghoul Heart Essence 1, Ghoul Heart Essence 31, Rotfiend Heart Essence 16, Small Experience Bead3, Alghoul Chest 2, Ghoul Chest 2, Rotfiend Chest 2]
[Hunting Quest: Ghoul II (Ghouls Killed: 244/250)]
[Hunting Quest: Rotfiend II (Rotfiends Killed: 89/100)]
[Hunting Quest: Alghoul II (Alghouls Killed: 14/20)]
The rating and loot chests under Loot Lock weren't particularly noteworthy. But the three "nukes" were nearly fully charged—it was just a matter of seeing who the lucky recipient would be.
Fortunately, the Corps System and the Quest System were separate.
While the Corps's passive skill Loot Lock required at least one Corps member nearby to activate, monsters killed by Corps members didn't count toward his hunting quests. Otherwise, he wouldn't have dared to tag along these past two days.
Not only would micro-managing be difficult, but he would also lose out on a lot of rewards.
For once, the Witcher's Journal had done something reasonable.
That said, what Allen looked forward to even more was the day when he could freely manipulate this permission—or even control whether The Conjunction of the Spheres triggered upon completing a Witcher Hunt.
But ever since his personal status changed to—
[Rating: Witcher!]
—nothing had changed for a long time.
"I wonder what the next upgrade requirement is?"
He brushed aside a hanging branch, pondering in his mind.
"Maybe a single attribute surpassing 100?"
"Not necessarily—Vesemir's perception has been stuck in the 80s for a while. If he pushes it further, it'll throw off his balance and cause discomfort…"
"So maybe it requires Strength, Agility, Constitution, and Perception all at 100? Or does it also need Mystery…?"
"And what happens when an attribute surpasses 100?"
Allen glanced at his personal status panel.
[Name: Allen]
[Age: 14]
[Title: Child of Miracles]
[Level: 77]
[HP: 100%, Stamina: 680/680, Mana: 840/840]
[Attributes: Strength 80, Agility 64, Constitution 68, Perception 85, Mystery 84]
He wasn't far from maxing out his attributes.
Just then—
Allen suddenly felt a gaze on him and raised an eyebrow.
Sure enough—
As soon as he put away his Witcher's Journal, Vesemir spoke up.
"The aftereffects of your weakness are completely gone?"
Allen nodded. "Just ended. Got carried away and rushed in."
Vesemir nodded, his expression hesitant.
"It wasn't necessary," the Witcher Master took a deep breath, looking somewhat dejected. His lips moved slightly before he finally admitted, "I know full well that I probably can't defeat you anymore. Ever since Aristo lost to you, I knew it."
"A victory unrelated to potions…"
"Who knows?" Allen shook his head. "We haven't fought again—how can you be sure? Besides, I didn't lie to Erni and the others, did I?"
"That's just playing with words." Vesemir shook his head.
Allen indeed hadn't lied—he had only blurred the timeline and the logic within his words.
He had used two extremely potent potions to defeat Vesemir, but it wasn't because he wanted to win—it had been an experiment to test the new potion's effects.
In pure swordsmanship, Vesemir had only won by a slight margin due to his familiarity with the Cat School's dual-wielding style.
But that was a month ago…
A month ago…
Had it really only been a month?
Vesemir's mind momentarily froze.
In just one month, had he already been surpassed?
Vesemir felt a deep and indescribable complexity in his heart.
He remained silent for a moment, then sighed, pushed aside the overgrown thorns, and stopped arguing, simply following the young witchers.
Allen watched the slightly desolate figure of the Witcher Master, his thoughts wavering.
He had indeed deliberately misled the young witchers with his words.
Vesemir admitting that he was no longer as strong as Allen would undoubtedly elevate Allen's prestige among the members of the Witcher Corps.
But Vesemir was the one truly guiding the young witchers. Compared to increasing Allen's already formidable reputation, it would be better if the young witchers had even more trust in Vesemir…
Hmm…
He couldn't justify it any further.
He couldn't deceive himself.
For some reason, Allen simply didn't want Vesemir to admit in front of others that he was inferior to anyone.
Even if that person was Allen himself.
Even if it benefited him.
Even if the ones hearing it were the witchers of the Corps, who should be closer to him.
He just didn't want it. A deep, instinctive resistance.
"Maybe…"
"I should do something about this…"
Allen murmured softly, gazing at the setting sun.
.....
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