Night.
The moon was bright, but the stars were few.
The world was silent, only the sound of insects could be heard as two figures, each carrying twin swords, walked through the desolate wilderness.
"Tracking is still something I taught you..." Vesemir said, his expression complex, trailing behind Allen at a slower pace. "But now, I can't understand it. If I didn't know you, I'd even suspect that you're just playing me, not wanting to rescue Erni and Claral..."
The tracking technique Vesemir taught Allen relied on the unique olfactory mutation of the Witcher's senses.
It was very useful when dealing with monsters like drowners and ghouls, or in bloody, chaotic crime scenes, or even in enclosed spaces.
But in this wilderness, they were tracking humans who had no scent and were unscathed.
Tracking was completely useless here.
Of course, the decision to catch up and rescue the young Witcher wasn't made because tracking had failed.
It was just that distinguishing the footprints and hoofprints left by those two would take time.
At least...
In this wild field, where the tracks were easily covered by the overgrown grass, it was impossible for Allen to follow with his head lowered and at a pace almost like his daily routine.
It was as if an invisible hunting dog were leading the way, through the earth covered with plants and without a sliver of moonlight.
"Just some little tricks..." Allen's gaze remained fixed on the ground, the red glow of the horse's hooves moving silently forward.
"Little tricks? Do you think I could learn them?"
Allen hesitated ever so slightly. "That... that might not be possible."
The tracking skill in his special abilities was more like a cyberpunk chip implant in his body, rather than a personal skill of his own.
Just as the Witcher's "Monster Hunt" could not be taught to others, the tracking skill was not something that could be passed on either.
"It's fine. I was just... asking..." Vesemir suddenly seemed to think of something, or perhaps wanted to change the subject, and paused before continuing, "Earlier, you deduced that damn sorcerer used the Artefact compression, and he even left a letter in my room to taunt me... Was that from this same technique?"
"Yes," Allen nodded.
"The Witcher's Eye is truly amazing," Vesemir's tone carried a hint of envy, but then he sighed, "I don't know if you're lucky or unlucky..."
It had been a long time since anyone had mentioned the ancient term "Witcher's Eye."
Allen paused for a few seconds upon hearing it, then realized that Vesemir had misunderstood. The tracking ability wasn't due to the "Witcher's Eye" but rather the power created by the Chief to hide his "Miracle Child" identity.
Hearing that term, Allen's mind suddenly conjured the image of a disheveled middle-aged man with black hair and gray eyes.
"I wonder if Chief Sol has recovered from Henselt's betrayal and death..."
Since returning to Kaer Morhen, Allen had sensed a slight change in the Chief's attitude toward him.
The Chief often stood at the edge of the training ground when he trained his apprentices, but it wasn't to observe their progress—it was to observe him...
[Do you want to become the Chief?]
The deep, hoarse voice echoed in his mind.
"What's wrong?"
Vesemir noticed that Allen's breathing, which had been steady, became irregular.
"Nothing," Allen shook his head and continued walking.
Let's deal with business first...
If I can't even protect my own Witchers, what's the point of thinking about becoming Chief?
The 800 meters mentioned in Vilgefortz' letter wasn't far, and it didn't take long before they came across the black, jagged birch trees under the moonlight.
But this was just the meeting place mentioned in the letter for tomorrow noon.
The empty forest was filled only with the eerie calls of some birds and beasts, with no sign of human life.
Vilgefortz and the sorceress had merely passed through here, not camped. Luckily, they hadn't used a portal to teleport away.
The red footprints didn't disappear here but instead circled around the forest and continued down the road to Vengerberg.
"Vilgefortz clearly looks down on us," Allen observed the path. "So the level of preparedness for an ambush won't be very high."
"I have a set of magical equipment that can make me invisible and silent. Once we arrive, you hide, and let me..."
"You can give me the invisibility and silence equipment, and I'll sneak in while you hide," Allen interrupted before Vesemir could finish. "What, are you afraid I'll steal the equipment and run off?"
"Of course not," Allen chuckled wryly, already anticipating the response, "But besides the invisibility and silence equipment, I also have Mirage Pearls to create illusions..."
"I also—"
Before Vesemir could argue further, Allen interrupted again: "The Mirage Pearl can only be used by me. It's part of a magic array specially set by Lady Vera..."
"Having invisibility and silence equipment is enough..." Vesemir tried to counter again.
"I also know some of the Cat School's assassination techniques, and I understand some of the sorcerer's weaknesses..." Before he could finish, Allen demonstrated a light step from the Cat School's sword techniques.
In an instant, he landed silently on one foot, like a wildcat, stepping softly onto the overgrown ground with broken twigs and vines, making no sound whatsoever.
What was even more astonishing...
Not only did Vesemir fail to hear any footsteps, but even the normal sounds of bones moving or the slight breathing noise were barely perceptible.
Vesemir stood stunned for several seconds, his amber eyes wide, now shocked to the point that they were as narrow as a line.
It wasn't that he hadn't met Witchers from the Cat School before.
But for a Witcher to perform such a technique, among all the Cat School Witchers, there were only a handful capable of it. It might even be that only their leader, Treyse, could do it.
"You... where did you learn... No, how did you learn those filthy techniques?"
Vesemir stared at the boot on Allen's foot, which had stepped on a twig, and couldn't help but stammer.
"Just tinkering around with it."
"Tinkering around?" Vesemir was speechless.
Is that something you could reach this level with just tinkering?
Despite his disdain for the Cat School, Vesemir could never deny their proficiency in assassination techniques, which were extremely difficult.
The Cat School's training methods were fundamentally different from theirs, so how could someone learn them so easily?
But as Vesemir opened his mouth to rebut, he thought about Allen's achievements in Wolf School swordsmanship, signets, alchemy, and potion-making.
Especially alchemy.
Could the Red Fox, Vera, create a potion that directly and permanently enhanced a Witcher's senses by nearly 20%, along with agility and magic?
Impossible!
Vesemir shook his head inwardly after some thought.
If such a potion could be created, with Vera's personality, she would have announced it to the world already.
So...
Given Allen's ability to create such a potion within half a year, how proficient was he in alchemy?
With such talent, why couldn't he "tinker" with those trash assassination techniques?
After figuring this out, Vesemir closed his mouth with a grimace.
After a long while, he finally spoke: "Why waste time tinkering with those filthy murder techniques? A Witcher only needs..."
"Just hunt the monsters?" Allen smoothly followed up with the question.
Vesemir, interrupted, paused for a moment before nodding.
"But I'll need them soon," Allen sighed, "And in the foreseeable future, there will probably... there will probably be many more situations where I'll need to use these dirty sword techniques, huh..."
Vesemir fell silent.
The moonlight was cold.
Despite it being the hot summer, the moonlight, like a thin frost, streamed through the light clouds and landed on them, strangely making them feel a bit cold.
"I'm your traveling mentor, so let me go," Vesemir said.
"No, you're not anymore, Vesemir," Allen smiled, "That's what you said this afternoon."
Vesemir was suddenly at a loss for words and gave him a rough slap on the shoulder.
Thud!
The crisp sound echoed.
Allen responded by dropping his shoulder in compliance. However, Vesemir didn't laugh.
"That's a magic source... too dangerous."
"It's not dangerous, I'm well-prepared," Allen turned around, his gaze firm. "The safety of Erni and Claral is the most important... You know... I'm the one most suited for this."
Vesemir didn't say anything.
Allen knew that meant Vesemir had agreed.
"Don't worry, I'm confident," he reassured. "If we aren't discovered, rescuing Erni and the others and leaving would be best, but if we are discovered..."
"I'll handle the possible sorceress. You deal with Vilgefortz. If your battle finishes early, you can come help me."
Vesemir still didn't respond.
Allen didn't insist on a reply, knowing that Vesemir would make the right decision when the time came. Leaving the birch forest, the two witchers, now close to Vilgefortz, stopped speaking.
The only sounds in the air were the mournful cries of summer insects, their footsteps purposefully light, and the whispering wind.
Until...
Allen, who was following the red footprints with his head lowered, suddenly felt someone gently tap his back.
He immediately halted.
Before he could even turn around, he glimpsed golden eyes and quickly closed his mouth, following Vesemir's gentle tug of the sword scabbard, slipping into the roadside grass.
"What's wrong?" Allen silently gestured with his eyes while hiding in the grass.
Vesemir raised a finger to his ear, then glanced towards the end of the road.
In the next moment, Allen knew without asking.
Ding ding~
The crisp but slightly urgent sound of bells spread from the huge darkness to the south.
To be honest, at night, in this desolate wilderness...
This bell sound was eerily reminiscent of a death bell from ghost stories, strange and chilling.
Vesemir and Allen exchanged glances.
If they were ordinary people, they might think it was some kind of ghostly spirit. But the monster-slaying knowledge of the witchers made it clear that this didn't fit the characteristics of any monster spirit.
Moreover, there was an even more likely possibility...
Seeing Vesemir's teasing expression of "Looks like we no longer need to argue about who will stealth and who will wait," Allen turned his attention towards the source of the bell sound, his mind in confusion.
Could this bell sound really be coming from Vilgefortz?
Ding ding ding~
The urgent bell grew louder.
At the end of the road, a small light point appeared in midair.
"A light spell..." Allen's mind stirred, and he exchanged a glance with Vesemir.
Without a doubt...
At this time, a sorcerer using a light spell near the city of Aedirn, which repels male witches, could only be Vilgefortz, the one who kidnapped the witchers.
But wasn't the agreed-upon time tomorrow afternoon?
What was this bell sound about?
Were they here to find us?
Could it be that Vilgefortz, arrogant as ever, had planned some trick to intentionally leave a provocative message to lower their guard, making it easier for a surprise attack later tonight?
This... didn't make sense, though.
The two witchers were equally puzzled.
But it was happening, and the eerie bell grew closer.
Soon, they could even hear the sound of hooves clearly.
Two horses, fitting the description.
Now, there was only one question left!
The plan to secretly rescue the young witcher had been interrupted by this sudden turn of events—what should they do now?
An ambush!
Allen and Vesemir exchanged glances.
Their dark gold and deep blue cat eyes simultaneously gleamed with fierce bloodlust.
The moonlight was bright.
Even without the use of cat-eye potion, the witchers could make out their enemies in the faint light. But sorcerers were different—no matter how powerful they were, they could not see in the dark.
A perfect opportunity!
Rustle~
The faint sound of friction as they cautiously moved back, avoiding the light spell to prevent revealing themselves too soon.
Hidden well, the witchers silently pulled out their ghoul-dead brew from their potion bags. They gently uncorked the Blizzard potion and took a sip.
Then, they gripped their silver swords in their right hands and placed a Northern Wind bomb in their left.
The posture wasn't graceful, but with their companions, apprentices, and family on the line, the witchers were determined to win.
Ding ding ding~
They held their breath, squinting their eyes to prevent the light from reflecting off their cat eyes and alerting the enemy.
The two horses drew closer.
Using their peripheral vision, they could vaguely see the figures of two people illuminated by the light spell.
The witchers could even hear the voices of a man and a woman discussing.
"…Ban Ard…people..."
"…Hen Gedymdeith...Sunny...to…council..."
-----------------
The voices, initially intermittent due to distance, gradually became clearer.
"Those seven witchers weren't the cause of the Ithlinne's Star Phantoms anomaly; their shadows were very clear in the illusion..." said the male voice.
"Do you think the problem lies with the remaining two witchers?" replied the female voice.
"I don't know, but it's possible. Of course, I'm more inclined to believe that the Ithlinne's Star Phantoms has some parameters we haven't explored yet..."
"Does that excite you?"
"Yes," the male voice laughed heartily, "If that's the case, this trip will be considered a full harvest, as long as..."
"We catch those two stragglers to verify it."
-----------------------
The female voice seemed to enjoy this back-and-forth, guessing the male's intentions or words beforehand, her clear and pleasant laughter echoing.
The two witchers certainly enjoyed it as well.
During an ambush, the enemy's attention being divided was the best outcome.
Closer... closer...
The moment the light sphere passed by, the witchers' eyes widened, and they gripped their swords tightly.
.....
📢20 advanced chapters on p@treaon📢
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346. Is the Name Deserved or Not?
347. Intense Battle.
348. The Surge of Primal Chaos.
349. Elder Blood and the Miracle Child's source.
350. The Royal Griffin! The Royal Griffin!