With that said.
Both sorcerers fell silent.
The mountain wind howled, bringing with it the piercing cold that only belonged to the night. The robes of the two sorcerers flapped loudly in the wind.
"Could it be the young king's doing?" the sorcerer in the starlight robe suggested. "The court of Ard Carraigh has always been a bit restless."
The middle-aged sorcerer asked: "Then what do you think their purpose is in capturing Tomas Moreau and Makarov alive at this time, Shaquille?"
"Maybe it's for revenge?" Shaquille replied uncertainly. "Tomas Moreau is the leader of the Academy's radical faction. It's possible the young king has been pushed too far by the nobles who were influenced by them."
Seeing the headmaster remain noncommittal, he thought for a few seconds and added: "It could also be the nobles of Aedirn. Recently, they haven't even tried to hide their restlessness."
"And isn't Tomas Moreau and Makarov's target Radek related to someone from Vengerberg in Aedirn?"
The headmaster still remained silent. Shaquille was getting a bit frustrated at this point. Ban Ard had stood above all major powers for many years now.
At their peak, even kings had to heed their words to secure their thrones. It's no wonder that in the face of the massive trouble brought by the king's death, the sorcerers of Ban Ard were arrogant. Thus, Ban Ard had countless hidden enemies, ill-wishers, and forces waiting to strike.
It's not that he couldn't think of other forces plotting to sabotage Ban Ard's sorcerers. It's that there were simply too many. Even the always neutral and upright Wolf School, who upheld their chivalrous spirit, were suspects. Let alone the countless other enemies of Tomas Moreau and Makarov themselves...
To be honest.
For someone to pull off such a clean and swift operation, and to hide the traces so well...
The most likely suspects aren't even the young king, who allegedly has a vendetta against Ban Ard...
But rather insiders from within the academy. Research funding, academic results, faculty positions, political views...
Any one of those is enough to prompt someone to stab a colleague in the back.
Not to mention...
Only someone who knew Tomas Moreau and Makarov's itinerary, could quickly neutralize their combat power, and then hide the traces so skillfully…
Both sorcerers were seasoned and powerful warlocks. Each of those tasks alone is not easy to accomplish. Internal conflict seems the most likely scenario. But of course, Shaquille wouldn't dare suggest this to Hen Gedymdeith. Moreover, when it comes to internal conflict, the headmaster knows far more than him. So, after thinking it over, Shaquille humbly threw out another suggestion:
"The sorceresses of Aretuza are also suspects. Haven't they been competing with us recently for the position of magical advisor to the Kaedweni court?"
"And they've always shown great interest in some of Ban Ard's research projects..."
Before he could finish speaking. The headmaster of Ban Ard, Hen Gedymdeith, raised his hand and interrupted Shaquille.
"Bang~"
An orange-red portal appeared before them.
Shaquille paused for a moment and asked: "Headmaster, aren't we going to continue investigating?"
"Vergen is not far from here. There might be some clues. If that doesn't work, we could return to Ban Gleann Fortress for a look…"
"The Pontar River can only be crossed in those two places."
Hen Gedymdeith shook his head and said, "The shadow of war looms before us."
"In the eyes of the public, the academy should not make any moves that draw attention at this time..."
"A large-scale search for two missing sorcerers would only expose our weaknesses to those with ill intentions."
Thinking of the tangled mess of relations with the Kaedweni royal family, and the internal divisions and restlessness within the academy, he sighed deeply in his heart. He couldn't understand…
Why hosting just one tournament seemed to have shaken the once tranquil Ban Ard to its core.
"But the radicals are still demanding an explanation..." Shaquille hesitated, "Tomas Moreau has always been an important member of their faction, so..."
"Hmph!" Hen Gedymdeith snorted coldly and scolded, "They dare ask for an explanation after they've made such a mess of things!"
"Jenks was deceived into privately researching the Conjunction of the Spheres, and I haven't even settled the score with them yet..."
Hen Gedymdeith looked at Shaquille. "You can relay this word-for-word to them..."
"If they cause any more trouble, once the war breaks out, I'll send them all to the front lines!"
"I understand, Headmaster," Shaquille nodded at his words.
"Good." Hen Gedymdeith nodded slightly, then walked towards the portal.
Just before stepping into the orange-red portal, he paused, as if suddenly remembering something. He turned and said: "When you get back, find someone to compile all the projects Tomas Moreau and Makarov have worked on in recent years... no... everything they've ever researched, and send it to me."
"And include a list of all the sorcerers who've competed with them for research funding."
Hen Gedymdeith's tone was cold, like ice. Shaquille immediately straightened up and replied sternly: "Yes, Headmaster."
"I'll arrange for it as soon as I return."
-------------------
The next morning.
Allen awoke from meditation in the sanctuary, sighing both in disappointment and relief.
After experimenting with the combination of Blizzard and Alghoul decoctions last night, he had gone to bed early. Unfortunately, he had dreamt of nothing. The goddess Melitele hadn't come to chat with him again. So whether danger and chaos would erupt during the Beltane festival remained a mystery.
"I wonder how Ianna's discussion with the old duke went yesterday?"
Allen muttered to himself.
After quickly washing up, he sat by the basket, waiting for the little priestess to bring him food.
Come to think of it.
Although Allen was still under the gaze of the dark gods, he no longer had to stay in the sanctuary all day, waiting for someone to deliver food. But for some reason. Both the witcher and the little priestess tacitly avoided mentioning this.
Before long.
The witcher's ears twitched.
"Tap, tap, tap~"
The sound of footsteps approached as expected. But in the next second, Allen frowned and looked down the corridor in confusion. Because besides the little priestess's footsteps, there was another set.
It wasn't Nenneke, who hadn't been by for a long time and had completely passed the food delivery duty to the little priestess, but…
"Mother Ianna?" The witcher was surprised to see the archpriestess smiling kindly at the young priestess. "Why are you here so early today?"
The archpriestess glanced at the empty basket on the ground and said: "Come with me, the old duke wants to see you."
The old duke?
Allen was puzzled.
Why does the old duke want to see me?
For the Necrophage Oil formula?
Or about Belleteyn?
"Neither," the archpriestess read his expression and squinted mischievously. "But it's not bad news…"
"Let's go. The old duke is waiting, and you can have breakfast on the way."
It wasn't a bad thing... The Witcher glanced at the Archprietess's wrinkled face and didn't ask further questions. With the expression she had now, asking wouldn't get any answers.
So.
As he followed the Archprietess outside, he glanced at the young priestess who had been keeping her head down since entering. Allen knew she was still embarrassed about what happened last night, so he softly greeted her: "Good morning, Lysa. Thank you for bringing me breakfast."
"Good... good morning..." The young priestess seemed startled, her voice stuttering slightly.
Upon hearing the Witcher's voice, she quickly lifted the white cloth covering the basket and handed him three peeled, plump, boiled eggs. The Archprietess noticed Lysa's strange behavior, and her steps paused for a moment, thoughtfully looking at the two.
"You two..."
"We're nothing..." The Witcher and the young priestess spoke in unison.
The Archprietess was momentarily stunned, and seeing the two trying to explain further, she nodded meaningfully, interrupting them: "Alright, alright, nothing, nothing..."
---------------------------
Because the Archprietess mischievously changed the subject every time Allen and Lysa tried to explain, pretending to be clueless, it made the entire journey slightly awkward, with only Ianna grinning mischievously.
Thus.
After the Witcher finished his breakfast, Lysa blushed and quickly ran off.
"Mother Ianna, do you find this fun?" The Witcher asked, somewhat helplessly.
"Of course it's fun..." Ianna nodded vigorously. "I don't have many years left before I serve the Goddess, and among my few remaining hobbies, you two are at the top..."
So, Lysa and I are your hobbies?
What kind of talk is this?
The Witcher opened his mouth but eventually just sighed, deciding not to argue with the old woman. After all, although Ianna was nosy, she wouldn't tell anyone; she just secretly... um, or rather openly, enjoyed the moment in front of them. So it wouldn't damage the young priestess's reputation. Thus, the Witcher didn't dwell on the matter.
But just because he didn't, didn't mean Ianna would drop the gossip.
"Priestess or sorceress, which one do you... prefer?" she asked curiously.
The Witcher didn't want to answer at first, but he couldn't bear the Archprietess's persistent gaze, which sent chills down his spine.
So.
With a helpless sigh, he looked seriously at the Archprietess and said: "Mother Ianna, since you know I am the Child of Miracles, you shouldn't ask such a question..."
"You should know, the time of sword and axe approaches, and it is the age of the White Wolf's winter."
"The world will die in frost and be reborn under a new sun."
"Ess'tuathesse! This is inevitable! Watch for the signs!"
"To know the signs..."
"First, Filius Miraculi—the Child of Miracles—will be born in the land of bitter cold."
"Death and rebirth, blood and fire will be brought by the one who is no longer human."
"I know..." The Archprietess immediately dropped her smile, "This is the prophecy of the Elven Sage Ithlinne."
"But what does that have to do with you, Lysa, and Mary..."
The Witcher stopped walking, lowering his head in silence for a moment.
"I have already witnessed blood and fire firsthand, brought by me..."
"That blood came from the wicked, and also from the good..."
"And from the unfortunate people who couldn't control their own fate..."
"That fire ignited the high walls of palaces, burned travelers' tents..."
"And it will burn the pillars of huts to ashes..."
His voice was deep, like the rumble of summer thunder, and carried an unmistakable hint of iron. It was the smell of blood, the scent of war and death. Ianna's expression became more solemn and compassionate as she listened.
"And..."
The Witcher paused, looking into Ianna's eyes: "And in the foreseeable future..."
"This blood will flow, heedless of good or evil, forming rivers. That fire will burn indiscriminately, consuming both cities and villages..."
"So, before things settle, I don't want to think about personal matters."
After hearing the Witcher's words, Ianna sighed. So this is the Child of Miracles...
She gently stroked the Witcher's hair, murmuring softly: "Good child, it's not your fault, it's not your fault..."
Allen felt the warmth of Ianna's rough palm, and for some reason, his throat suddenly tightened.
"Let's go, Mother Ianna..." The Witcher brushed aside those strange feelings, stepping away from the Archprietess's hand. "The old Duke is still waiting for us..."
"By the way, do you know what he wants from me?"
The Archprietess didn't mind his evasion. She composed herself, her expression once again soft and kind, smiling with narrowed eyes: "It's a little surprise. You'll know when you get there."
To this.
The Witcher could only shake his head and continue walking toward the temple's entrance.
---------------
At the entrance, passing by the massive statue of the goddess Melitele, the old Duke stood outside the temple, in the same place he had two days ago. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture impossibly straight for someone in his sixties or seventies.
Allen often found himself wondering.
As a high-ranking nobleman, and the ruler of Aelirenn, why couldn't Duke Mason simply send one of his subordinates instead of coming personally, especially at his age?
The Witcher thought there must be some other motivation. As for that motivation...
He glanced at Ianna, who was about the same age as the Duke. Even though the Archprietess wasn't young and her face was etched with deep wrinkles from the passage of time, she hadn't taken care of herself much. But overall, she still carried a certain grace and poise.
If she didn't squint, at first glance, she looked like Lady Vira in her older years.
So it wasn't surprising if the Duke had some fondness for her.
"Are you thinking something impolite?" Ianna suddenly spoke, startling the Witcher. Before he could deny it. The Archprietess squinted, giving him a playful yet menacing smile.
"Too bad I'm a priestess of the Goddess and not a sorceress like Vira who can read minds..."
"Otherwise..."
"I'd pry open that cute little head of yours and see what exactly is going on inside!"
The Witcher could only chuckle awkwardly, quickening his pace toward the Duke, who had his back to them and seemed to be striking a pose.
At that moment.
The old Duke, having heard their approach, turned around. Seeing the Witcher and the Archprietess, he immediately spoke, as was his style, getting straight to the point. But to Allen's surprise.
The Duke hadn't come for sword oils, nor for the possible risks of the May Festival.
His first words were: "Witcher, have you ever encountered the Wild Hunt?"
....
📢20 advanced chapters on p@treaon📢
For advance chapters: p@treon.com/Uchiha_Itachi007 (replace @ with a)
266. The Consequences of Spreading Rumors About the Wild Hunt.
267. Vesemir's Little Note.
268. Offensive and Defensive Reversal.
269. The Spirit-Summoning Ritual.
270. Yennefer Doesn't Feel Pain at All.