Keldar was not famous.
To be more precise, he was like all the other witcher masters of the School of the Griffin.
He emphasized personal virtue and cultivation, enjoyed studying Signs and magical power, maintained good relations with the rulers and revolutionaries of the Northern Continent, and tirelessly practiced the chivalric code across the north.
Renowned and respected for aiding the poor and relieving hardship, yet never particularly outstanding.
A textbook School of the Griffin witcher master.
However, in the unaltered timeline, Keldar was very much like Vesemir. They were the sole survivors of their respective schools after great calamities, the gravekeepers of their orders.
They loved their schools, conscientiously passed on their knowledge, and guarded fortresses that had become ruins.
And of course, both lives were miserable.
But in some respects, Keldar had it even worse than Vesemir.
At least the Wolf School's head had not, like Erland of Larvik, completely abandoned his school out of utter despair toward humanity.
Allen could scarcely imagine it—after the avalanche, facing a devastated school, and then being utterly forsaken by the school's grandmaster—
What kind of despair Keldar must have felt, and with what resilience and willpower he taught apprentices and sustained the ghost of the dead School of the Griffin.
To be honest, Keldar—with tragedy as the backdrop of his life—was one of the very few characters Allen had liked, apart from the main cast, simply from hearing his story in his previous life.
But then again, it wasn't just Keldar and Vesemir. From the moment of its birth, the profession of witchers had been tragedy through and through.
Abandoned by their parents shortly after birth, surviving deadly trials with grievous losses, living by slaughter, yet regarded as monsters by those they protected, and ultimately dying in some nameless corner of the Northern Continent.
That seemed to be the fate of witchers.
Which witcher ever lived out a happy life?
None.
From the selfish Bear School, to the chivalry-embracing Griffin School, even the cruel and violent Cat School—not a single one.
"Allen, what's wrong with you?"
As Keldar was giving his brief self-introduction, he noticed that Allen's gaze had inexplicably taken on a trace of pity—like a god standing above the world, looking down upon the changes of mortal lives.
Unable to help himself, he paused mid-introduction, checked his attire, then touched his face and asked in return,
"Did you see something?"
"Yes… did you?" Erland of Larvik asked worriedly.
From Jerome Moreau, he already knew that the child before him possessed a prophetic ability never before seen among witchers.
The warning about a hidden extraordinary force plotting against the School of the Griffin was precisely a prophecy Allen had given, brought back by Jerome Moreau.
Thus, when Erland asked that question, whether they were chatting with familiar faces from the Wolf School or observing the surroundings of the camp, all the Griffin School witcher masters held their breath and carefully looked toward the fourteen-year-old witcher of the Wolf School.
Only the two sorceresses in the distance, unsettled by the sudden silence between the two witcher schools, cast uneasy glances in this direction.
"Yes," Allen said, reining in the turbulent thoughts in his heart and telling a benevolent lie. "I saw the School of the Griffin break free from the destiny of destruction beneath the avalanche—"
The Griffin School witcher masters immediately breathed a sigh of relief.
Keldar, however, frowned slightly.
He had seen it clearly. That look in Allen's eyes was not joy, but pity. It didn't quite resemble a prophecy directed at the School of the Griffin—rather… rather it was as if Allen were looking at him. Allen's eyes seemed to say that he knew him, and pitied him.
But before today, he didn't know Allen at all. He hadn't even heard those legendary stories about him before Jerome Moreau returned, having been delayed by other matters and unable to leave the school.
Was it an illusion?
Keldar wasn't sure.
"But although the fate of Kaer Seren being destroyed by the avalanche has come to an end," Allen's suddenly turning tone interrupted Keldar's thoughts, "the calamity of witchers has not."
The calamity of witchers—
Erland of Larvik frowned and glanced at Sol. Sol gave a slight nod, clearly having anticipated this long ago.
"Allen, what do you mean by that?" Sol asked.
Allen took a deep breath and did not answer directly. Instead, he said abruptly,
"When we left Kaer Morhen, it had already been snowing for an entire day."
"It won't be long before the mountains are sealed by heavy snow."
"It should be about the same at Kaer Seren, right?"
"The snow season at Kaer Seren usually starts about a week earlier than at Kaer Morhen," Erland of Larvik said thoughtfully, his eyes shifting. "But I imagine you're not asking about the geography of snowfall timing between two mountain ranges."
Allen stopped hedging and looked straight into Erland's eyes.
"This year, the witchers returning to the mountains of the School of the Griffin—are there many?"
The moment the words fell—
Erland of Larvik, Jerome Moreau, Keldar, and two other Griffin School witcher masters named Lucien and Daniel all changed expression drastically.
Keldar even cried out in shock, "How did you know?!"
The School of the Griffin was always punctual. The reason they had only arrived at the outpost now was precisely because the number of witchers returning to the mountains this year was shockingly low. They had spent time investigating the cause and gathering information.
So it was true—Allen thought to himself.
But he didn't answer immediately. Instead, he glanced at the two sorceresses who kept peeking over from time to time and said,
"This isn't something that can be explained quickly. Once you're settled, we'll talk properly—"
"The Griffin School's quarters are right next to the Wolf School's."
Naturally, the Griffin School witcher masters were not people who lacked patience for even this short amount of time. After exchanging a few looks, they agreed.
With a few brief words, they sent the two sorceresses away, and everyone soon returned to their respective quarters.
The Griffin School witcher masters reached their lodging—a stone house identical to the Wolf School's, apart from the griffin motif etched at the entrance—tethered their horses, and almost the moment they pushed open the wooden door and stepped inside, they impatiently came right back out, knocking on the Wolf School's door.
"Allen, what did you mean earlier? Could it be that your Wolf School—"
Erland of Larvik stepped into the Wolf School's quarters, and his voice suddenly cut off.
He realized that the Griffin School's quarters seemed rather different from the Wolf School's—
No—very different.
Although there was likewise an oak long table just inside the entrance, the walls of the Griffin School's quarters certainly did not bear paintings with such extraordinary expressive power.
The School of the Griffin was an anomaly among witchers.
In order to associate with rulers and revolutionaries, Griffin School witchers usually possessed some form of artistic skill; even those who did not were far beyond ordinary connoisseurs in their appreciation of art.
Griffin School witcher masters were, of course, even more adept in this regard.
Unlike Vesemir and the other Wolf School witchers, Erland of Larvik immediately noticed the uniqueness of the oil paintings on the walls to either side upon entering.
"Borhn Drummond's Scrolls of Fate?!" Keldar said uncertainly, exchanging a glance with Lucien.
As they shifted their attention from the texture to the figures within the paintings, they froze for a moment, then instinctively looked toward Allen, who shared the same blue cat-like eyes.
Witchers with blue cat eyes were not uncommon, but without any need for careful comparison, it was obvious—the figure in the paintings stood right among them.
Borhn Drummond had painted Scrolls of Fate for Allen?
And not just one—two of them?
Sol explained, "Tissaia de Vries's doing. She owes Allen a considerable favor."
Tissaia de Vries of the Chapter of the Gift and the Art owed Allen a considerable favor?
Keldar once again exchanged a stunned look with Lucien.
This was even more shocking than Borhn Drummond painting two Scrolls of Fate specifically for a young Wolf School witcher.
At least the legends of Allen that Jerome Moreau had told were worthy of any painter's craft—even Borhn Drummond's.
But Tissaia de Vries, the legendary mage who commanded Aretuza, the second-largest sorcerous organization of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers, had seemingly never been known to owe a favor to any witcher at all.
As grandmaster of the School of the Griffin, Erland was likewise surprised for a moment. But he soon thought of the high council of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers convened on Thanedd Island for the Dol Dhu Lokke expedition.
"The Witcher Order may be gone," he said, "but witchers are still witchers."
"Hm—"
Erland seemed to think of something, paused, then added,
"At the very least, the School of the Griffin and the School of the Wolf are eternal allies."
Allen felt a warmth rise in his chest and thanked him. "Thank you, Grandmaster Erland."
"As it should be," Erland waved a hand and returned to the main topic. "What did you mean earlier by the calamity of witchers?
"Have fewer witchers returned to Kaer Morhen this year as well?"
Sol nodded. "Nearly twenty percent fewer."
Erland and the other Griffin School witcher masters all looked grim.
"Before leaving Kaer Seren, the numbers we tallied were nearly half fewer than in previous years—"
Half?!!
The hearts of the Wolf School witcher masters all skipped a beat at that moment.
No wonder the School of the Griffin—usually so punctual—had arrived late. If the losses of the Wolf School amounted to injured sinews and broken bones, then the School of the Griffin was outright crippled.
If half of the witchers hadn't returned, and this had happened to the Wolf School, they would very likely have chosen to abandon this expedition altogether.
Of course, the Griffin School witcher masters themselves were probably unaware as well. They didn't know whether something unexpected had happened somewhere on the Northern Continent that delayed the witchers' return to the mountains. Otherwise, had they known it was sorcerers and nobles conducting targeted hunts against witchers, they likely wouldn't have come at all.
We still underestimated the effect of the Killer Whale potion—Vesemir, Valerius, and Gregor, along with the other Wolf School witcher masters, thought to themselves.
The average standard of Wolf School witchers traveling the Northern Continent was not higher than that of Griffin School witchers.
On the contrary, because of their mastery of hand crossbows and Signs, the Griffin School actually possessed stronger survivability than the Wolf School, which specialized in close-quarters swordsmanship.
Which meant—
If not for Killer Whale, perhaps the number of witchers returning to Kaer Morhen would have been even fewer than that half of the Griffin School.
"What's the reason? Is some force targeting witchers?"
The Griffin School witchers weren't fools. And having just dealt with a supernatural organization coveting the Griffin School's wealth and knowledge, they didn't need the Wolf School to spell it out. Just from Allen's few remarks, they could already guess much of it.
"It's the Rogrides family—" Allen didn't hedge. Starting from the very beginning, he recounted how Master Danthe of the Wolf School and his traveling apprentices had been set up by the mastermind Rogrides, the middleman Padrek Vasquez, the Drakenborg administrator Evans, and the executor Little House, nearly being wiped out in Drakenborg.
The Griffin School witcher masters listened with clenched teeth, cursing incessantly.
Grandmaster Erland's expression grew increasingly grim, even tinged with disgust and weariness.
Reading the room, Allen immediately recalled the original timeline—
After the Griffin School's home, Kaer Seren, was buried by an avalanche, Erland became utterly disillusioned with humanity and directly abandoned his role as grandmaster,
Abandoned the duty of a witcher, and even forsook the Griffin School's sole remaining witcher, Keldar—or perhaps after the avalanche, Erland and Keldar simply missed each other and never met; or perhaps Erland had invited him, only to be refused by Keldar, who cared more deeply for the Griffin School—before disappearing entirely from the human world.
Startled by the thought, Allen immediately changed course, no longer elaborating on the details. He glossed over the matter in a few sentences and moved straight to a detailed explanation of the Wolf School's idea for the "Witcher Prohibition Order."
After a long while—
"—Those are the measures for now. If the School of the Griffin has any good suggestions, you're welcome to add them."
After finishing, Allen looked toward Erland of Larvik.
"It's already very thorough," Erland shook his head. "I can't think of anything that needs changing. Was this plan devised by Sol?"
He looked at Sol, the grandmaster of the Wolf School.
Sol smiled and shook his head. "Why ask that? You know this isn't my area of expertise. Most of the plan was thought up by Allen. Vesemir, Gregor, Valerius—"
"Don't flatter us," Valerius waved his hand, interrupting Sol. "At least I don't think I contributed anything at all. In fact, if Danthe hadn't stopped me, I would've become a sinner of the Wolf School."
"You can just say the entire plan was set by Allen alone. No need to save face for us."
Vesemir and Gregor nodded in agreement.
"To be able to devise such a watertight plan is truly remarkable," Erland looked at Allen with growing admiration. "I remember you're also skilled in alchemy, and you've created quite a few highly practical formulas. Jerome also said you're very proficient with Signs—"
At this point, Erland suddenly sighed, a vague loneliness appearing in his eyes.
"Perhaps you are the witcher that Cosimo Malaspina and Alzur—the exacting legendary mages of the Mage Conclave—always dreamed of."
"If they were still alive, they would surely be very happy to see you—"
As he spoke, Erland couldn't help thinking to himself:
If, back then, the Witcher Order had possessed a witcher as outstanding as this, would Cosimo Malaspina and Alzur have left?
Would the Witcher Order have avoided being dragged into fragmentation and collapse by Arnaghad's cruelty and my own foolishness?
The more he thought, the more Erland found himself looking toward the head of the long table—toward the Wolf School grandmaster whose eyes were practically glued to Allen. He sighed once more.
"Sol—"
"Hm?"
"I think… I'm a little jealous of you."
.......