The sorceress called Maeve stepped forward trembling, forcing a stiff smile at the corner of her mouth. "Grandmaster Sol, honored guests of the Wolf School, please follow me."
Allen, Valerius, Gregor, and Letho all looked toward Sol.
Sol exchanged a glance with Tissaia de Vries, then gave a slight nod. "Let's go."
The Wolf School witchers followed the sorceress Maeve deeper into the camp.
When the group was about to pass the Redanians blocking the road, the Kingdom's Sword knights did not make way immediately—until Magnus, the commander of the Knights of the Kingdom's Sword, waved his hand.
"Haa~"
After they had gone some distance and turned a corner along the main road, Maeve suddenly let out a long breath. Once her stiff body relaxed, she turned back, puffed up with indignation, and demanded,
"Why did you come in through the west gate? Didn't the Chapter of the Gift and the Art arrange for someone in Maribor to tell you that witcher schools are supposed to enter through the east gate?"
The east gate?
The Wolf School witchers looked at one another. This was the first time they had heard that the outpost camp even had two gates.
"We didn't go to Maribor," Hughes, the young witcher closest to Maeve, thought she was questioning him and replied reflexively. "After we found out the outpost was here, Lady Vera happened to have the coordinates, so she sent us over with a portal."
"Lady Vera?" Maeve turned back in confusion.
Witchers coming by portal? Weren't they supposed to arrive on horseback?
But before Hughes could answer, Maeve's peripheral vision caught sight of the black-haired, gray-eyed witcher with an expressionless face.
She suddenly recalled an old piece of gossip she had chatted about with her girlfriends a few days earlier. Thinking of Kaer Morhen at present, it did indeed seem to have a Vera capable of opening portals. She probed cautiously,
"Vera—are you talking about Vera Triennes, the Crimson Fox?"
"Is there any other Vera?" Hughes asked, puzzled.
Maeve immediately reined in her accusatory expression.
People brought here by the legendary Crimson Fox—then it was fine.
After thinking for a moment, she explained carefully,
"The Chapter of the Gift and the Art knows about the conflict between the Wolf School and the Crowned Silver Eagle, so the Crowned Silver Eagle was arranged at the west gate, while the witchers are stationed at the east gate."
"We even specifically sent a guide to Maribor, and people are waiting at the east gate as well—"
"That was our mistake," Allen said, glancing at Sol. Seeing that Sol had no intention of responding, he gave Maeve a gentle nod, signaling that they would not blame the Chapter of the Gift and the Art for what happened at the gate.
Maeve let out a sigh of relief. She looked at Allen, then at the expressionless Sol. After a moment's thought, she finally gathered her courage and asked softly, "Since that's the case, could I trouble you to help explain the situation when you meet the Archmistress?"
"Otherwise, according to the rules, the Archmistress will have to punish Sophia, Grace, and Vice-Archmistress Lux Antille."
Allen nodded without hesitation. "Of course. When we see Lady Tissaia, we'll explain everything."
Maeve finally put her worries to rest and began introducing the various factions stationed along the outpost, where to eat, where to collect supplies, where to repair equipment, how to find Tissaia de Vries, and a whole series of other details.
Following Maeve's lead, Allen also asked about the Crowned Silver Eagle and those Knights of the Kingdom's Sword.
The Kingdom's Sword was Redania's trump-card force. In principle, they should not have taken part in the Dol Dhu Lokke expedition to rescue Ban Ard. Even if it were to take revenge on Allen or the Wolf School, they should not have been deployed here.
To put it bluntly, the Wolf School was not worth "the Bald One" Radovid IV paying such a price.
Maeve told them everything she knew, but because her position was not high, it was mostly hearsay, with little truly important information.
Before Allen could finish asking, Maeve had already led them to the Wolf School's quarters.
It was a rather peculiar stone building. Unlike the strange-looking tents of the sorcerers they had passed along the way, this structure was square and solid.
Aside from the wooden door, the exterior walls looked as though they had been directly chiseled out of a mountain, rather than built stone by stone.
On the wooden door, a small raised section formed the image of a ferocious wolf's head.
It was somewhat reminiscent of Vergen, the City of Stone on the Aedirnian border that Allen had once visited—a place originally founded by Mahakam as an ancient mining colony in the distant past, later occupied by Aedirn.
Valerius quietly explained to Hughes and the others that this had been constructed by sorcerers using a spell that turned mud into stone, completed in an extremely short time.
"Creak~"
When the wooden door was pushed open, the interior furnishings were nothing like the cold, monotonous exterior.
What greeted them were an oak long table and more than a dozen chairs—enough to accommodate all the Wolf School witchers participating in the expedition for meetings.
Candles on the table and along the walls were already lit, illuminating a glass vase with globe amaranths inserted into it, as well as several paintings hanging on the walls.
The first painting, hanging on the wall behind the main seat of the long table, depicted a witcher with gray catlike eyes plunging his longsword into the heart of a red dragon.
Another painting, on the right side of the table, showed a blue-eyed witcher descending from the sky, striking down with all his might at a monster with a huge, grotesque eye.
The latter composition was especially striking. Before the hill-sized cyclops-like monster, the witcher was almost like a tiny ant. And yet, when one looked at the painting, one's gaze could not help but converge on that small figure, carrying awe inspiring sense of mortal blood slaying a god.
As they walked further inside, the painting on the left side of the long table gradually emerged in the flickering candlelight.
The protagonist of this oil painting was also a witcher with blue catlike eyes. This time, however, the witcher had his back to a city glowing red yet suffused with a despairing gray tone. Mounted on a chestnut steed, he was charging toward a vast, ocean-like sea of grotesque and terrifying wraiths.
Seeing this unexpected sight, even Allen was stunned.
He could of course tell who the protagonists of these paintings were. Sol's dragon-slaying oil painting was one thing—but why was his painting hung here?
Among those present, aside from a few young witchers, which of Valerius, Gregor, or Vesemir didn't have several deeds worthy of praise?
Yet it was his painting that was displayed—
Allen felt a bit awkward.
Moreover, didn't oil paintings usually take half a year to complete?
Neither of the two events he had experienced had even been half a year ago. Who had painted them—and painted them so… well?
"These—are all Allen's / the commander's?!!"
The others of the Wolf School paid no attention to Allen's complicated feelings and couldn't help but exclaim aloud.
Maeve, who had been about to leave, heard this, glanced at the two paintings on the wall, then suddenly snapped her head around to look at Allen, screaming in shock,"You're the god-slayer?!!"
"Yes—if the god-slayer you mean is the one in the paintings, then that would indeed be me."
Allen didn't quite understand what this sorceress named Maeve was so shocked about. Logically speaking, she should have known that he would be among the Wolf School witchers joining the expedition. Moreover, Aretuza had sent quite a few sorceresses to the "god-slaying" operation in Ellander.
The already rather talkative sorceress now seemed to completely let herself go, bombarding him with questions.
For a moment, the spacious room grew somewhat chaotic.
Until—
Vesemir walked up to one of the paintings. Looking at a corner of the oil painting, his dark-golden pupils suddenly shrank. He immediately moved to the other painting, then abruptly turned back to stare at Allen in shock, his throat dry as he asked,
"Allen, do you know who painted these two works?"
Without waiting for Allen to answer, Vesemir continued to himself, "It was Borhn Drummond."
Who was Borhn Drummond—
Allen froze for a moment. His first thought was confusion; his second was: they were just two paintings—did it really matter who painted them?
They weren't nobles or wealthy merchants.
But then a realization suddenly struck him—
Borhn Drummond—
Within the Chapter of the Gift and the Art, aside from Tissaia de Vries of Aretuza, Hen Gedymdeith of Ban Ard, Ortolan of Rissberg, and Narses de la Roche of Novigrad, the final member of the Mage Conclave was the legendary mage who should have been living in seclusion in the Dragon Mountains of the Hengfors League—
Borhn Drummond—
"Bang!"
The wooden door was slammed shut heavily.
After storming angrily into the Crowned Silver Eagle's quarters, Belendil Rogrides immediately halted his steps. The fury blazing on his face quickly cooled.
Tap tap tap~
He paced several steps around the room, then sat down in a high-backed chair made of precious yew wood. After lighting the candlestick on the oak table with magic, he waited in silence.
"Creak~"
The wooden door groaned as it was opened again.
Magnus entered the room. After glancing at Belendil Rogrides, he removed his heavy metal helmet, placed it on the table opposite Belendil Rogrides, and sat down as well.
A short while later—
The goat-bearded, middle-aged man in a black mage's robe, Agostino Austin, entered last. He glanced at Belendil Rogrides and Magnus, then waved his staff.
A pale red soundproof barrier enveloped the entire room.
But that wasn't all. He walked to the wall, reached out to a painting depicting a star-filled sky, and carefully tapped a dim star along its edge.
The pale red magical barrier covering the room immediately grew thicker.
"The plan ran into a bit of trouble," Belendil Rogrides said, "but it was very successful."
Agostino Austin let out a snort of laughter. "All I saw were setbacks. I didn't see any success at all."
Belendir Rogriddes frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Tissaia de Vries' punishment was harsher than we expected, but isn't everything still going according to plan—no! It's even better than the plan."
"At the very least, the plan never included the Wolf School entering through the west gate."
"Even though we have no idea why, who could've imagined that Aretuza had already arranged a guide, yet they still ended up wandering straight into our territory?"
"This even spared us the clumsy step of sending someone to deliberately mislead and provoke the Wolf School. The entire plan was advanced by at least a full day."
"A whole day! Think how much extra preparation that gives us—it's like the gods themselves are helping us."
"And didn't you see those little wolf cubs trailing behind Valerius and Gregor? Those snot-nosed brats who still reek of milk?"
"The Rogriddes family's scheme has succeeded! The Wolf School—no, including the Griffin School and the Bear School, all witcher schools across the Northern Continent have suffered a heavy blow."
"The Wolf School can't even scrape together enough veterans. They're sending apprentices who've just passed the Trial of the Grasses—or maybe haven't even passed it yet—just to save face!"
After listening to Belendir Rogriddes' tirade, Agostino Austin shot him a disdainful glance, tapped the tabletop with his index finger, and looked toward Magnus.
"Magnus. Tell him where we failed."
"It was Sol—" Magnus said in a low, muffled voice, his head lowered. He shot a glance at the confused Belendir Rogriddes. "You never told me Sol would be this strong."
"The Wolf School's grandmaster was never going to be weak," Belendir said, still puzzled. "He's Sol the Dragonslayer, a living monument who survived since the era of the Witcher Order. Of course he's—"
"That's not the same thing!" Magnus slammed his fist onto the table, cutting him off. "You're too weak. You don't understand at all!"
Belendir Rogriddes froze for a moment. Anger flared up in his mind, but when he glanced at the icy expressions of Agostino Austin and Magnus, he swallowed it back down. Plastering on a careless grin, he pressed on.
"So what's different?"
Magnus looked impatient, but remembering Radovid IV's orders, he forced himself to explain.
"In our original intelligence, Sol was indeed very strong. But the Sword of the Kingdom is also the strongest knightly order on the Northern Continent."
"We had already anticipated encountering him on this expedition. With just three Sword of the Kingdom knights, plus specially crafted magical equipment, we believed we could pin him down."
"Once the other witcher masters were slaughtered, we could slowly grind him to death."
"Sol's dragon-slaying relied on traps, poison, and vast combat experience—in the end, on thorough preparation."
"He exploited the dragon's bulky body, evaded its attacks, and struck a decisive blow at the right moment. It wasn't overwhelming power or speed capable of matching a dragon head-on."
"But he doesn't understand us."
"Every Sword of the Kingdom knight is no weaker than an ordinary witcher master. We're even more tactically refined than the Wolf School, with strategies designed for all extraordinary beings—including witchers and dragons."
"Give us a dragon, and we could slay it too. Let alone mere witchers!"
Belendir Rogriddes seemed thoughtful. "But Sol's actual strength exceeded your expectations?"
"Exceeded?" Magnus let out a cold laugh. "We couldn't even see his movements clearly."
"Do you know what that means?"
Belendir shook his head.
Magnus hadn't expected an answer anyway.
"It means that if he'd wanted to, before you even lifted a finger, the Dragonslayer's sharp blade would've taken off your head—my head—"
"And if he'd been just a bit more ruthless—"
Magnus paused, his voice sinking low.
"Before anyone from the Brotherhood of Sorcerers arrived, everyone from Redania in this camp—would have died."
.......