"It's all a sorcerer's conspiracy!" the bearded master witcher said angrily.
The gray-haired White coughed lightly, reminding, "Ahem! Aristo! It's a warlock's conspiracy!"
The rugged man named Aristo glanced cautiously at Vera, seeing she had no reaction, and continued, "Right, right, it's all the warlocks' conspiracy."
"They're definitely involved in court intrigue, slandering us to the king."
"Since White, as a monster advisor, was squeezed out of the court by the warlocks, the last two kings of Kovir have gradually distanced themselves from our school."
White nodded slightly, acknowledging and continuing, "There's indeed such a possibility. Long ago, the warlocks of Ban Ard showed hostility towards our school."
"Our lads are more skilled, taking away many of their jobs. So the real enemy of the School of the Wolf might just be those warlocks."
"And..."
The gray-haired White glanced at the chief, who had a blank expression, and said, "Also, the prophecy might not be entirely accurate."
"We all know that seers speak in vague, ambiguous terms."
Other master witchers nodded in agreement.
The king's dissatisfaction and the envoy's probing were all just guesses, not yet confirmed. Their sense of crisis almost entirely stemmed from the chief's prophecy dream from an unknown source. The master witchers trusted the chief but not the person who made the prophecy.
"Chief, could it be that because we know about this prophecy and believe it firmly, it leads to us tearing our relationships with the king and warlocks, ultimately facing destruction?"
"If we adhere to our principle of neutrality, perhaps none of this will happen."
Vesemir knocked on the table, advancing further. If the prophecy wasn't given by the chief, he might even think the prophecy was a conspiracy against the School of the Wolf, causing them to panic and show hostility, ultimately offending both the king and the warlocks.
"Maybe the king really just forgot to send a letter earlier. This could simply be a notification about an apprentice competition. The Great Devourer always enjoyed hosting such contests."
The logic was clear, matching reality, and, most importantly, easier for everyone present to accept. The master witchers breathed a sigh of relief and nodded in agreement.
Even Allen began to doubt, feeling uncertain. After all, he had no ability to predict. The Battle of Kaer Morhen was something he deduced from the background stories in games and novels, combined with the suspicious behavior of the warlocks.
But even the prophecy of the Elder Blood could be changed. What if this war wouldn't have happened but was triggered by Allen's words, creating a butterfly effect that sparked hostility between several factions? That...
That would be truly outrageous.
"Thud, thud, thud."
The chief tapped the black wooden table with his finger joints, interrupting the commotion.
"Today's meeting ends here. Whether the prophecy is accurate or if there's malicious guidance, at least the king indeed harbors dissatisfaction due to the elves, conflicting with our school's principles and non-negotiable."
"So..."
He paused, leaning forward, his silver vertical pupils contracting, a powerful aura pressing down on everyone.
"Stay vigilant, witchers. We are walking on a cliff's edge."
The master witchers responded solemnly, "Yes, Chief!"
The chief nodded, then looked at Allen, saying, "Allen, notify Hughes, Bond, and Fred, and ask if they're willing to participate in the duel competition between the two schools."
"If they are, each will receive 100 Orens, along with a standard silver sword and cotton armor from the school."
"Winning the championship will bring even greater rewards from the school."
Allen nodded, then hesitated, "Can I participate in this competition?"
The chief paused, falling silent. The master witchers, who had risen from their seats, looked at each other. Allen's achievements often made them forget his age. Even as master witchers, former geniuses of the School of the Wolf, they knew they couldn't match Allen in talent.
"Do you want to participate?" The sorceress came over.
Allen nodded.
"Then participate. The invitations to other schools and nobles haven't been sent yet," the sorceress said, glancing at the chief.
The master witcher title for Allen had little impact outside the school. Who would entrust a large contract befitting a master witcher to a thirteen or fourteen-year-old? Instead, it would attract enemies' attention to the School of the Wolf's genius.
The chief thought for a moment and then nodded in agreement.
The master witchers showed strange smiles. Dante put his arm around Vesemir's shoulder, laughing, "Hahaha, Vesemir, double the bounty."
"Looks like we can have Mettina Rosé wine at next year's feast."
"Not that extravagant, but at least we can upgrade to Toussaint's Red wine," White, who managed finances, corrected with a smile. Bright sunlight streamed through the windows, and dust danced in the air, moving with the cheerful laughter.
Happy, joyful.
It seemed everyone had forgotten the threat of their school's destruction.
-------
As evening approached, the master witchers left one by one after a few jokes. Allen and the sorceress arranged to use the alchemy room after dinner and then left the meeting room.
A moment later, the noise faded, leaving a cold, silent space surrounded by stone walls.
"Do you believe in Allen's prophecy?" the chief broke the silence.
"He has no reason to lie, right?"
The sorceress, holding a cup of wine, took a sip and continued, "But those witchers made some good points."
"The Great Devourer might just be slightly displeased, not yet at the point of no return."
"If you react aggressively, showing hostility, it might provoke him."
The chief nodded, sighed, tapping his finger lightly on the table, and thought deeply. The setting sun cast golden-red light on his profile, leaving a deep shadow on his furrowed brow.
The sorceress looked at him deeply, then asked in a rare considerate tone, "Sol, have you considered Henselt's proposal?"
"After all..."
"You have no connection with the elves. If you go back far enough, you were created by a sorcerer like Alzur."
The chief raised his head, shaking it lightly and firmly, "Vera! You know that's impossible."
"The wolves may not be as noble as the griffins, but they will never become domesticated cats."
.....
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93. Cat-Eye Potion.
94. Jealous Mary.
95. What Do I Have to Pay?
96. Clap! Clap!
97. Silver Sword, Drawn.