"Allen, that..."
Before Vesemir could finish his sentence—
"Rumble~"
A low, strange noise echoed from within, intensifying the feeling of unease, as though a slumbering dragon had opened its eyes, searching for uninvited guests.
"Buzz~"
The wolf medallion vibrated intensely.
For a long moment, the aurora, the strange sound, and the heart-palpitating sensation ceased simultaneously.
Vesemir glanced at Allen with a grave expression.
He had seen auroras before, in the polar snowfields far north of the Dragon Mountains in Kovir. He had only been there once in the past century, due to a particular contract.
The shimmering lights in the sky were as soft and delicate as gossamer. However, such a spectacle would never appear in Aedirn or Kaedwen. Moreover, there was that indescribable and intense sense of dread and the strange sound.
This had to be magic!
But what kind of magic or battle could have the power to alter celestial phenomena like this?
Frowning, Vesemir pulled out his map.
With a piece of charcoal, he traced a line from their current location directly in the direction of the aurora, passing through numerous towns and villages along the way.
Unconsciously, the black tip of the charcoal pencil reached the edge of the map and stopped.
The destination was Ban Ard—the city of sorcerers.
"It must be Ban Ard," Allen said, gazing into the distant sky.
The low-hanging sky seemed to retain traces of dark red, distorted light.
It appeared that what he had been anticipating was finally happening—the Wild Hunt had targeted another enemy of the School of the Wolf.
Yet, at this moment, Allen felt no joy in his heart.
"Ban Ard..." Vesemir murmured softly. "Are you certain? That place is at least a thousand kilometers from here..."
"What kind of magic could cause such an extraordinary effect from a thousand kilometers away?"
Allen remained silent, offering no answer.
He knew Vesemir wasn't really looking for one.
The Witcher master felt his throat grow dry.
Allen's judgment was almost always accurate, but at this moment, Vesemir sincerely hoped he was wrong. Because if the disturbance indeed came from Ban Ard, it would mean Allen's long-held suspicions were correct.
The Wild Hunt truly was after his apprentices!
Thinking of the incidents at Flotsam Port and Ellander, and the recent phenomena…
Regardless of whether the aurora, the sound, and the dread were caused by the Wild Hunt or another force, they confirmed that the skeletal riders in the sky possessed terrifying power—enough to inspire despair.
"We still have time, Vesemir Master, we still have time," Allen said, taking a deep breath. "Ernesto has gone to fetch Ivar Evil-Eye of the Viper School. By now, he should have reached Nazair. If all goes well, we'll meet them by May next year."
"He's spent his life thinking about how to deal with the Wild Hunt—he'll surely have some solutions."
"Ellander's Duke Mason harbors a grudge against the Wild Hunt, and Temeria is on our side."
"After this event, not only will the Northern Kingdoms realize the threat of the Wild Hunt, but with Ban Ard Academy being attacked, the Brotherhood of Sorcerers won't stand idly by..."
Allen looked at Vesemir with determination in his eyes.
"Today, with Ban Ard clashing against the Wild Hunt, they're bound to suffer heavy losses. Combined with the war in Aedirn, there'll be fewer hostile gazes cast towards our schools."
"Erni, Claral, and the others are improving their skills rapidly. When we return to Kaer Morhen, at least twenty more apprentices will pass the Trial of the Grasses."
"Time is on our side."
Vesemir was convinced, his tightly furrowed brow relaxing.
"No point worrying about it then. Ban Ard is too far from us," he said, nodding before turning to head back toward the inn. "Let's check on those brats and see how their Quen practice is coming along. If they've been slacking, I'll make sure they regret it!"
His tone was hearty, as though the upheaval at Ban Ard had nothing to do with them.
But he didn't notice.
The moment Vesemir turned his back, the calm and resolute expression on Allen's face disappeared.
His lips moved as if to speak, but no sound came out.
"Time..."
Someone sighed silently in their heart.
"Creaaak~"
The worn wooden door of the inn groaned as it opened.
The massive disturbance seemed to have no effect on the tavern's atmosphere.
The ale in the mugs remained perfectly still, and the patrons chatted idly about trivial village matters. An elderly woman continued to wipe bowls, her dull expression shifting to one of ingratiating cheer upon seeing the two Witchers enter.
"Tonight, we have fresh mushroom soup, cheese, black bread, fried bread cubes, and dried meat..."
"Didn't you feel the... uh, strangeness just now?" Vesemir interrupted in surprise.
The elderly woman instinctively wiped her hands on her gray dress, looking puzzled. "Change? What change?"
"Nothing," Vesemir said, exchanging a glance with Allen before shaking his head. "Fried white bread cubes, cheese, and mushroom soup—prepare nine portions and bring them up shortly."
"Right away!" The woman's face lit up, instantly forgetting the strange question.
Those three items were the priciest in the inn.
As she disappeared behind the counter's curtain, Vesemir scanned the tavern, observing its other occupants.
Picking up a lantern at the staircase, he turned and spoke softly to Allen: "The strange phenomenon earlier seems to have been perceivable only by those with magic."
"Perhaps it was some sort of mental magic—or a shift in elemental essence..."
"The impact may not be as significant as we thought."
Allen nodded.
If ordinary people couldn't sense the anomaly, the reactions of nobles and kings would indeed be slower, introducing uncertainties.
"The red light in the sky lasted for quite a while."
"Common folk might have gone to bed early and missed it, but those with guards—nobles—would have seen it..."
Allen's voice faltered mid-sentence.
The creaking of old, warped wood beneath their feet suddenly stopped.
The second floor of the inn was eerily silent, save for the echoes of their footsteps. But it was precisely this silence that unnerved them.
With their sharp senses, they should have heard at least some sounds from the eight other Witchers. It was impossible for the place to feel abandoned.
The golden-red lantern flame flickered, casting light on no more than three meters of darkness around them.
Beyond the lantern's glow, the darkness loomed like a hidden predator.
Frowning deeply, Allen and Vesemir simultaneously placed their hands on the silver swords at their waists.
"Knock, knock, knock~"
The door to the nearest room by the stairs was rapped upon.
No one answered.
The second door, the third, the fourth... all the same.
Vesemir's frown deepened as he exchanged a glance with Allen.
Allen fiddled with the latch and opened Claral's room. The room was empty—though the belongings were scattered, there were no signs of a struggle.
The other rooms were the same, as though the seven Witchers had all decided to leave at once without telling anyone.
"Clay, Ajax, and Hughes might have snuck out, but Erni and Claral would never leave without informing anyone," Allen said, pursing his lips as he walked to the window of Claral's room.
No footprints. No signs of climbing.
Not that it was unexpected.
If there had been any traces, the room wouldn't have been completely devoid of any signs of a struggle.
"Knock, knock, knock~"
Footsteps echoed from the stairwell as an older woman climbed up, carrying a large basket of food.
"Ah, why are the two of you standing in the stairwell? Hmm, where is everyone else?" The woman looked at the seven open doors, all leading to empty rooms.
"They didn't come downstairs today?" Allen didn't answer the question but responded with another, his face expressionless.
"No... no, they didn't..." The woman seemed to sense something was wrong. She set down the basket. "Or maybe I just didn't see them..."
Didn't see them...
If seven people went down the creaky, old wooden stairs together, how could the folks on the first floor not notice?
But they didn't go downstairs, and they didn't leave through the windows either...
Could seven grown adults have vanished into thin air?
"Do you need me to help call the guards?"
"No need."
"Then... what about this food?" The woman nervously clasped her calloused fingers.
Vesemir glanced at the basket.
It was covered with a clean white cloth, with steam rising from it. The rich aroma of oil and mushroom soup filled the hallway.
"Leave it here. Deduct the cost from the deposit."
"Alright." The woman smiled, her face wrinkling into even deeper lines, making her look even older.
Just as she turned to leave, she seemed to remember something. "Oh, right. A couple came by this afternoon."
"A couple?" The two witchers exchanged glances.
"You don't know them?" The old woman licked her dry lips. "They were such a stunning pair, dressed in expensive clothing. As soon as they came in, it felt like the entire dining room lit up. Everyone was staring at them."
"But before I could say anything, the two of them headed upstairs. They were probably looking for your... um... companions, weren't they?"
"Maybe they followed the couple out to have some fun. They might be back tomorrow."
"They didn't make any noise when they came upstairs?" Vesemir asked with a frown.
"Noise? What noise?"
"Nothing," Allen interjected. "They probably went out with them."
"That's good." The old woman seemed relieved. "Those youngsters, though... going out with familiar faces and not leaving a note or anything..."
She muttered as she went downstairs.
The atmosphere on the second floor grew even more somber.
Seven witchers of considerable strength had disappeared without a sound, without alerting anyone, during the day.
How had that couple managed it? And who were they?
"I'll look for more traces," Allen said.
Vesemir's face darkened, like the calm before a volcanic eruption. "I'll search too. Start with Clay's room; I'll begin with Claral's."
Allen nodded, then activated his tracking sense.
Suddenly, numerous red footprints appeared on the dim hallway floor. Apart from the standard witcher boots, two distinct sets of prints stood out, glowing brightly as Allen focused on them.
Allen crouched and concentrated on the nearest footprints.
In an instant, the red markings morphed into light, forming two pairs of tall, slender red legs below the knees.
Step by step, they moved up the stairs and stopped in front of Clay's door, but they didn't enter.
After a few seconds, they moved to Erni's door, then to the other young witchers' rooms.
They didn't enter any of the rooms, lingering only briefly at each door, as if they had merely come to chat and then left. But witchers who never left the mountains—where would they get human friends?
"Knock, knock, knock~"
The sound of footsteps echoed through the empty hallway.
Allen silently entered Clay's room.
About a meter from the doorway, a red footprint from a standard witcher boot caught his attention.
When Allen focused on it, a vision of Clay's lower leg, formed from red light, appeared and shrank rapidly.
It became smaller than Allen's pinky.
Allen's expression darkened as he walked into Clare's room.
Vesemir had just begun his search, crouching to examine the patterns in the dust on the floorboards.
"No need to look, Vesemir."
The witcher master paused, looking up in confusion.
"It's a mage. A male sorcerer from Ban Ard abducted Erni and the others!"
"How do you know that?" Vesemir asked instinctively.
The possibilities had been limited, but they'd only just started analyzing the traces. How could Allen reach such a conclusion in under two minutes?
Allen pointed to the worn wooden floor behind Vesemir. "A Transformation Seal Spell. A male sorcerer—an exceptionally powerful one—used the spell on Erni and the others to take them away."
The Transformation Seal Spell, also known as the Artefact compression.
It was a potent enchantment that encased the target in a jade-like shell, shrinking them into a tiny "figurine" that could fit in the palm of a hand.
Only powerful sorcerers could perform this spell.
The spell allowed its caster to capture targets without the risk of escape, making them portable and easy to conceal.
Allen recognized the spell immediately because, in his previous life, he had read about it in the original story and remembered it vividly.
During the Thanedd Island coup, Francesca Findabair had used this spell to shrink Yennefer, smuggling her off the island and into Dol Blathanna. Yennefer had remained compressed for 47 days until Francesca lifted the spell and demanded she join the Lodge of Sorceresses.
"Transformation Seal Spell?" Vesemir blinked in confusion.
"Lady Vera mentioned this spell to me, so I recognized it..." Allen lied casually, describing the spell's effects as he led Vesemir down the corridor. The glowing "sorcerer" legs stopped at the witcher master's room.
Before Vesemir could open the door, Allen pulled out a thin wire from his belt. A quick flick unlocked the door.
The red legs entered the room and stopped by the small table near the bed before turning back.
Allen didn't follow.
On the small table lay an expensive piece of chiffon paper with elegant noble handwriting:
[To the Honorable Master Vesemir,
Please meet me tomorrow at noon in the birch grove, 800 meters north of the village.
—Vilgefortz of Roggeveen]
.....
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343. Vesemir's Anger and Astonishment.
344. The Limit of Attributes.
345. Ambushing Vilgefortz.
346. Is the Name Deserved or Not?
347. Intense Battle.