The Gallery of Glory instantly erupted into an uproar.
The influence of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers spanned the entire Northern Continent. Because of geography, national strength, and economic conditions, Temeria, Redania, and Kaedwen naturally had more sorcerers represented in the High Council.
However, since the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization and Ban Ard had both been unexpectedly teleported into The Valley of Thousand Monsters, and because most pampered sorcerers spent their days buried in laboratories, there were not many in the Gallery of Glory who actually knew the name Allen.
Now, hearing all at once such exaggerated, almost legendary achievements attributed to a witcher—achievements that could be called astounding—even those high-ranking sorcerers who regarded witchers as creations of sorcerers, mere tools for cleanup, and held them in the greatest contempt, were drawn in by curiosity and began asking around.
"Godslayer? Are witchers nowadays this arrogant?"
"Which god was slain? I haven't heard any news about an evil god returning in the first half of the year."
"Why would the Crimson Fox take a witcher as an apprentice? Can those Wolf School brutes who only know how to swing swords really learn alchemy? I always thought that was the Griffin School's style…"
"Sword oil? What's that? What? It lets ordinary soldiers easily kill ghouls?!! A formula created by a witcher—are you sure?"
"What does 'Child of Melitele' mean? Aren't the Temple of Melitele in Ellander full of priestesses and healers?"
-----------------------------------
Fringilla Vigo tilted her head, gathering the mixture of true and false rumors circulating through the hall, unable to believe that the protagonist of those stories and titles was the creator of the sword oils Vera had just mentioned.
Just as everyone instinctively questioned, the supernatural world had never lacked elements of wonder—dragons, shamans, alchemy, giants, vampires…
But there was one thing that never changed: the masters of the supernatural world had only ever had one identity—sorcerers.
The epic murals painted across the surrounding walls always depicted sorcerers.
They had guided humanity from the Conjunction of the Spheres, helped them take root in this world, taught them how to wield chaotic magic, carved paths through thorns and brambles for mankind, and established the order and institutions that continued to this day.
As for witchers…
Fringilla Vigo felt sympathy for, and even goodwill toward, this profession that devoted an entire lifetime to exterminating monsters for humanity.
Yet witchers had always existed at the margins of the supernatural world—tools created by sorcerers to eliminate rampant monsters and maintain order.
A hundred years ago, the Brotherhood of Sorcerers might have discussed such creations, marveling at the feats of Alzur and Cosimo Malaspina.
But now…
Perhaps a small number of sorcerers working in mutation studies and genetics still cared, but for most high-ranking sorcerers who lived year-round in laboratories and wizard towers, witchers had long since become "outdated."
People only thought of them when drowners infested a river—not during solemn rituals and formal councils.
Even earlier, when Tissaia de Vries and Narses de la Roche mentioned the Wolf School and the Griffin School, it was merely in passing.
The real focus of discussion had been the price Aretuza paid by setting an example, and the Brotherhood's position in Novigrad.
No one ever asked…
Would the Wolf School, Bear School, and Griffin School even agree to an expedition into The Valley of Thousand Monsters? And if they refused, what then?
Witchers were created for exactly this purpose. At most, people would lament the expense, then think about how to save costs and skim payments.
But now—
A previously unknown witcher's name had openly appeared in the Gallery of Glory of the Brotherhood's High Council, and had even sparked interest and astonishment among the great figures present…
This might have been something that had never happened in a hundred years—no, ever since the very birth of witchers.
"Well, that makes sense too," she thought, gradually accepting it. "Only such exaggerated deeds and identities from the rumors could make even the Crimson Fox take him so seriously, to the point of consulting his opinion over something as trivial as purchasing sword oils."
Fringilla Vigo turned her head toward Vera, intending to confirm how much truth there was in those rumors—but after a single glance, she abandoned the idea.
Vera's face was expressionless, yet frighteningly cold, veins faintly visible on her forehead.
From her angle, Fringilla could even see the Crimson Fox's hands resting on her thighs, fingernails dug deep into flesh, with a faint hint of blood visible.
Something was wrong!
Fringilla Vigo realized this immediately.
As Vera's alchemy apprentice, gaining such renown in a High Council setting should have been a source of pride, something that reflected glory upon her mentor.
Why did Vera look as if she wanted to kill someone?
Something was wrong!
Fringilla Vigo sat up straight, no longer glancing in Vera's direction, carefully observing the changes within the Gallery of Glory.
The seating arrangement of the Gallery of Glory was not random.
The closer to the center, the higher the status and seniority—just as Vera sat in the front row, famed across the Northern Continent for her unparalleled alchemy.
And the uncle she was substituting for, Atorius, likewise stood unrivaled in the field of illusion.
Both were independents without overt supernatural factions; since both hailed from Toussaint, they were seated together.
The other areas followed the same pattern.
Though there were no explicit markings, seats were divided according to origin or publicly known place of residence, with higher status seated further forward.
Thus—
When she noticed that the sorcerer named Belendil Rogrides was surrounded by quite a few male sorcerers who appeared roughly the same age.
Sorcerers, thanks to youth potions, could generally maintain youthful appearances indefinitely—but that applied mainly to sorceresses. Among male sorcerers, there was an unspoken rule: as their seniority and status increased, most would deliberately allow their appearance to age, making themselves look steadier and more experienced.
As a result, while it might be hard at first glance to tell sorceresses apart in the Gallery of Glory, male sorcerers could always be identified at a glance.
"So many representatives around Belendil Rogrides…" Fringilla Vigo murmured. "Ban Ard… no… possibly the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization…"
"Uncle did say that Ban Ard has long had conflicts with non-humans and witchers due to geography…"
"Could it be that Belendil Rogrides is promoting Allen's fame in the Gallery of Glory with ulterior motives?"
Fringilla Vigo formed a few guesses.
The noise in the Gallery of Glory continued, growing ever louder.
It wasn't merely because an unknown figure had suddenly risen to fame; the truly important factor was the series of legendary stories behind Allen.
In a world like the Northern Continent, where information traveled extremely slowly, many high-ranking sorcerers were hearing for the first time that amid the war between Kaedwen and Aedirn, and the great calamity of the Wild Hunt destroying Ban Ard, Ellander of Temeria had twice suffered catastrophes that should have existed only in epics.
Even figures who had little interest in witchers—or even in the upcoming expedition into The Valley of Thousand Monsters—could not help but cast serious attention toward these major events that had erupted in rapid succession over just a few months.
Linking this to the increasingly violent and frequent monster attacks on humans, and the rising tide of elemental energy in the air, many sorcerers skilled in prophecy vaguely sensed that a new era of turmoil was approaching.
Yet before they could voice their foresight to overshadow the pointless curiosity about a legendary witcher—
"Lady Tissaia, is that so-called 'Godslayer' real?"
From the southern seats, a goateed sorcerer suddenly asked in a loud voice, instantly quieting the Gallery of Glory and dragging the topic back to the witcher.
Only then did everyone realize that, yes—Belendil Rogrides's other titles were hard to verify, and Vera's words, given her role as an alchemy mentor, were not entirely convincing.
But Tissaia de Vries's fairness was universally acknowledged.
All eyes abruptly converged on the central seat of the Gallery of Glory.
Fringilla Vigo noticed that this goateed sorcerer did not belong to the group of young representatives attending in place of others like Belendil Rogrides, nor was he seated anywhere near the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization or Ban Ard.
Yet she did not believe the two were unrelated.
Having studied illusion magic in depth under her uncle Atorius, she was extremely attentive to details.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Vera press her lips together, the curve of her mouth dipping ever so slightly.
That was tension—and unease.
"Who is he?" Fringilla Vigo pondered as she observed.
She did not recognize the goateed sorcerer, but she did recognize a balding sorcerer seated nearby.
That was Agostino Austin, the magical advisor to the King of Redania. She had met him before while traveling with Uncle Atorius, and several of the faces around him also looked familiar.
"What connection could there be between Redania, the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization, and Ban Ard—three factions that should be at odds with one another?" Fringilla Vigo was puzzled.
No one answered her confusion. Instead, Tissaia de Vries seemed to glance in her direction and said expressionlessly: "The title 'Godslayer' is true. Allen did indeed play an important role in the Ellander incident of expelling the evil god," Tissaia de Vries said, not waiting for the expected uproar before continuing. "However, at the time, Aretuza under my command, the priests of the Temple of Melitele, and the knights of Ellander were deployed on the perimeter to draw away a large number of ghoul-type creatures. Only after Vesemir descended from the sky riding the Royal Griffin to block the remaining creatures was Allen's action able to succeed."
"It was not his achievement alone."
Tissaia de Vries seemed dissatisfied with the rumors that placed all the credit on Allen.
But why did Vera's subtle expression instead look like she had let out a sigh of relief?
Fringilla Vigo found herself increasingly unable to understand.
Her own alchemy apprentice being praised made her unhappy, yet when he was downplayed, she seemed relieved.
"Riding a Royal Griffin?" At this moment, someone's attention shifted elsewhere. "Rogrides just mentioned a Royal Griffin Knight. This is…"
Tissaia de Vries fell silent for a few seconds, then nodded. "Allen did indeed subdue a Royal Griffin. It played a significant role in the expulsion of the evil god."
The Gallery of Glory fell silent for an instant, then erupted again.
"Royal Griffin Knight" could mean many things—such as a noble whose heraldry bore a Royal Griffin—so those who had not understood earlier had not taken it too seriously.
But Tissaia de Vries's words now delivered another shock.
Because no one had ever been able to tame a wild Royal Griffin—not even sorcerers. Yet a witcher had done it. This was a provocation, and also a new direction.
"Lady Vera, how did he do it?!!"
At last, someone finally directed their attention to the person whom everyone had been consciously or unconsciously avoiding for various reasons.
Vera was silent for a moment, then shook her head. "I don't know. It seems to have been an accident."
An accident… Many lost interest, because an accident meant it could not be replicated and was not a stable method of taming. But others grew even more intrigued, because accidents carried a strong sense of fate, perfectly fitting the nature of a witcher.
After another stretch of silence—
"I agree with Belendil Rogrides's proposal. For the expedition to Dol Dhu Lokke, the Wolf School must include that Allen!"
"The presence of a Royal Griffin can greatly ease the pressure of the expedition. I also agree with Belendil Rogrides's proposal!"
"If that Allen brings the Royal Griffin to Dol Dhu Lokke, I will personally join the expedition. I also agree with Belendil Rogrides's proposal!"
-----------------------------------
Naturally, the high-ranking sorcerers one after another agreed with Belendil Rogrides's proposal, demanding that Allen participate in the grand expedition to Dol Dhu Lokke—despite the fact that Belendil Rogrides himself had not actually proposed anything.
The High Council of Sorcerers rarely convened, and it was rarer still for figures like Tissaia de Vries and Narses de la Roche to attend. Naturally, there was more than one proposal on the agenda; the expedition was merely the last, and the most important.
In fact, before the expedition was discussed, the High Council had already dragged on in dull fashion for most of the day.
But Fringilla Vigo had never seen a scene like this.
Such unanimous approval—almost every high-ranking sorcerer cast a vote in favor.
Apart from the five members of the Society of Talent and Artifice, high-ranking sorcerers were the ultimate goal in the eyes of all sorcerers, the final dream.
Countless male mages and sorceresses might have dreamed of a moment of instant fame like this from the day they graduated from sorcerer academies, from the day they began studying magic under their elders, or even from the day they first learned of the existence of the High Council of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers.
And today, that dream was realized by a witcher.
From this day on, the name Allen would be known throughout all supernatural forces of the Northern Continent.
It had to be said—this was a kind of irony.
It also made Fringilla Vigo look forward even more to the journey to the Circle of the Mayna Druids after the meeting ended.
Amid the noise—
Narses de la Roche turned his head toward Tissaia de Vries. Tissaia de Vries, without changing her expression, glanced down at Vera, who was sitting with her head lowered. She sighed softly in her heart and said coldly: "I will send out the invitation."
................
(T/N: Played Witcher 2 for 3 hours yesterday. I was astonished how good it ran on my old laptop which had no dedicated graphic card only integrated intel graphic.)
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