Expedition Forward Camp, Griffin School Stronghold.
"Hiss—hiss—"
The witchers of the Griffin School were sharpening their swords with the whetstones they had just received.
Under the dim candlelight, sparks leapt from time to time between steel and stubborn stone, yet an indescribable tranquility permeated the air.
There would not necessarily be a battle tomorrow.
The School of Bear had not yet arrived. No matter how urgent the expedition to Dol Dhu Lokke was, it would not depart before all members had gathered.
Moreover, sorcerers were never as straightforward as witchers.
Before an expedition, there would be at least two tedious meetings—outlining objectives, defining responsibilities, assigning divisions of labor, and dividing benefits.
Dividing benefits was secondary. An expedition aimed at rescuing Ban Ard hardly involved much profit to split. Thus, assigning roles and defining responsibilities became all the more important.
Those walking at the front would certainly face greater danger than those in the center. Logistics roles were inevitably safer and more profitable than scouting—
Erland of Larvik was thoroughly familiar with the modus operandi of the Sorcerers' Brotherhood.
So there would be no battle tomorrow. Nor the day after.
Thus, the sharpening was not for battle, but for maintenance after battle.
Along the way to Dol Dhu Lokke, the Griffin School had not, as usual when traveling the Northern Continent, focused mainly on contracts. Instead, they had been rushing onward.
Yet the monsters of the Northern Continent—perhaps due to the war in Kaedwen that had affected half the continent, and the frequent appearances of the Wild Hunt, which in legend symbolized ill omen—had been far more active than in the first half of the year.
The Griffin School was not one that could turn a blind eye to suffering within sight, even though humans seemed to dislike them more and more.
Therefore, before reaching the forward camp for the Dol Dhu Lokke expedition, the Griffin School witchers had practically fought their way from the border swamps of Gors Velen all the way to Maribor.
Although the Griffin School relied primarily on hand crossbows and Signs in battle, their longswords inevitably dulled against the increasingly resilient muscles and bones of monsters.
No—
It should be said that precisely because the Griffin School relied on crossbows and Signs rather than swordsmanship, their longswords dulled more easily.
Compared to schools like the Wolf School, which preferred to spend large sums commissioning master smiths to forge divine weapons, the Griffin School witchers were more inclined to use inexpensive standard-issue longswords and replace them promptly. As a result, their swords were more readily worn down in battle.
"Phew—"
With the most patience-demanding sharpening finished, the Griffin School witchers exhaled in unison.
They then took out soft cloths soaked in linseed oil and applied rust-preventive oil to their steel and silver swords.
This step still required focus, but there was no need to worry, as with sharpening, that a hard whetstone might damage the keen edge with a careless slip.
Thus, the Griffin School witchers relaxed slightly.
"Sol and Vera actually have a child—and already so grown up—"
A middle-aged Griffin School master witcher named Lucien, with dark green hair and dark symbols tattooed on his face, suddenly broke the silence. His tone carried astonished disbelief.
Keldar paused his movements and glanced at him. "Didn't Jerome already mention it back in Kaer Seren?"
"It's different. Seeing it with your own eyes is different from merely hearing about it," Lucien shook his head, squinting at the oil-sheened silver sword in his hands, murmuring as if lost in thought. "It feels like just yesterday Sol had a stern little face, asking me how to control the power of Aard so he wouldn't hurt his companions during practice."
"And today his child confidently tells me that the witcher schools are already outdated—"
Keldar fell silent.
He belonged to the first generation of Griffin School witchers, not one from the original Witcher Order.
Moreover, witchers of his era in the Griffin School usually operated in Kovir and Poviss, and in coastal countries reachable by ship. They had little interaction with the Wolf School.
In his memory, Sol only had one identity—Grandmaster of the Wolf School. Well, perhaps also the partner of the Crimson Fox. Beyond that, there was little connection.
Lucien, however, though not appearing very old, had truly lived through the entire era of the Witcher Order, and at its schism had chosen to leave with Erland, becoming one of the "Thirteen Close Friends" who founded the Griffin School.
"Vera—that little girl—every time she came to Morgraig back then, she'd be surrounded by a bunch of snot-nosed brats. In the end, Sol won her over—and even had a child with her."
"Daniel, what are you feeling right now?"
Lucien turned to look at the person beside him. "If I remember correctly, you were one of those brats chasing after Vera with a runny nose—"
"And you even gave her flowers, didn't you? Only to be—"
"Shut up, Lucien!" The middle-aged witcher with graying hair named Daniel darkened in expression and interrupted irritably. "That was how many years ago? Vera was one of the very few girls we could even see in the Order back then—and she was that beautiful. Of course she was popular!"
Witchers had long natural lifespans.
That longevity often rendered age meaningless. Lucien had once been his mentor in the Order, and had also mentored Keldar and Jerome Moreau, yet now the three stood as equals.
But there were always a few moments that reminded one of the gap in age.
Those moments were usually unpleasant.
A colleague who remembered how many times you had wet the bed and all the foolish things you had done was bound to become annoying from time to time.
"Hahaha—" Lucien and the usually silent Erland burst into laughter.
"Vera was indeed adorable back then," Erland nodded approvingly after laughing. "Daniel, you had good taste."
Daniel rolled his eyes and ignored them.
Of course his taste was good.
Vera was born into a great noble family of Toussaint, refined in etiquette and graceful in bearing. Compared even to princesses of major kingdoms, her status was hardly lower.
She had been chosen by Agnes of Granville—founder of the Chapter of the Gift and the Art, and the most influential and powerful sorceress of that era—as her successor and apprentice.
There was no more special girl in the entire Northern Continent.
Not to mention, she was that beautiful.
The first time she came to Morgraig, following behind Agnes, dressed in a crimson velvet gown, she looked less like someone accompanying her mentor to assess the value of witcher projects, and more like she was attending a royal banquet in Temeria.
If Alzur and Cosimo hadn't constantly brainwashed them back then, telling them they were the future saviors of humanity, those mostly impoverished and abandoned orphans would hardly have dared approach her.
Of course—
Later, once he matured—and after having rather in-depth interactions with more than a few sorceresses and widowed noblewomen—he understood that women only went to such lengths to dress up for someone they favored.
Before the Crimson Fox appeared in Morgraig, he had already had no chance.
"Huh?!" Keldar's eyes widened as he stopped his movements. "Daniel, you and Grandmaster Sol were actually rivals in love?!"
Jerome Moreau also stopped what he was doing, quietly pricking up his ears.
"What kind of rival was I?" Daniel gave a bitter smile and shook his head. "Lady Vera came for Sol from the very beginning. She—and Sol—already had a betrothal. We just didn't know it at the time. Otherwise—"
Lucien shook his head and interrupted. "There is no 'otherwise.' Even if you had known about the betrothal, you still would've given her flowers. The result would just have been the same—rejection."
Daniel fell silent.
He realized he couldn't refute that.
When he met the strange looks of Keldar and Jerome Moreau, he immediately grew flustered. "Don't just talk about me—Kean, Silas, Xavier, Wesley, Remy—which one of them didn't give Vera—"
Daniel suddenly stopped mid-sentence.
The Griffin School stronghold fell into inexplicable silence.
After a long while, Lucien finally sighed softly, nostalgia in his voice. "Silas, Xavier, Remy, Kean, Felix… They've been gone for so long. I was almost starting to forget them."
Silas, Xavier, Remy, Kean, Felix—like Lucien and Daniel—had been among the Thirteen Close Friends who left the Witcher Order with Erland.
But no matter how long a witcher's lifespan was, it could not withstand monsters' fangs and human persecution.
Those who once walked shoulder to shoulder grew fewer and fewer.
"Let's not dwell on that," Keldar noticed the mood sinking. Glancing at the taciturn Jerome Moreau, he quickly turned to Erland, shifting the topic with a joke. "Chief, have you ever thought of having a child like Grandmaster Sol?"
"Maybe it's difficult between a witcher and a sorceress, but with a human there might still be ho— What is it, Daniel? Why are you pulling me?"
Keldar turned his head and saw Daniel slowly shaking his head, making a gesture behind Erland's back.
Did I say something wrong again?
Keldar's heart skipped. He cautiously glanced at Erland.
Only then did he suddenly recall: though the Griffin School upheld neutrality and the knightly code of the griffin, that code certainly did not include abstaining from romantic entanglements.
Witchers had never been ascetic monks of Kreve.
To be honest, not just him—everyone present except Jerome Moreau, including Daniel who had just reminisced about sorceress Vera, had a few romantic affairs in their past.
With peasant girls, widowed noblewomen, sorceresses—even with a certain countess—
Many Griffin School witchers' favorite place upon entering a city was the Pink Tavern.
It was not some shameful scandal to be avoided. After risking their lives for humanity, they needed to vent and relieve pressure.
As long as both sides are willing, there is nothing wrong with it.
But he truly had never heard any rumors concerning Erland of Larvik.
The Grandmaster of the Griffin School was like those ascetics of Kreve—he had never taken a companion.
Keldar looked toward Daniel.
Daniel exchanged a glance with Lucien and let out a soft sigh in his heart.
"I think Keldar actually has a point," Lucien cast a tentative glance at Erland of Larvik. "Erland, it's already been more than two hundred years. You should try to leave that story behind. Even if Jagoda were still alive, she wouldn't—"
"No need," Erland of Larvik shook his head. He did not use a harsh tone, merely interrupted flatly, "The spirit of the Griffin does not require inheritance through bloodline descendants. Besides, an heir as outstanding as Allen is not someone you can simply produce at will—"
"He is the Miracle Child. There will never be a second Miracle Child in this world."
"And besides—"
He paused slightly, his tone softening as he looked at the witchers seated by the long table. "I have already found an heir."
"Who?" Jerome Moreau, Keldar, Lucien, and Daniel asked in unison, astonished.
But the moment he spoke, Jerome Moreau recalled that just outside the stronghold earlier, Grandmaster Erland of Larvik seemed to have had a long conversation with Allen.
"Is it—Allen?" Jerome Moreau asked, somewhat uncertain.
Erland of Larvik smiled and nodded. "What do you think? No need for us to cultivate an heir ourselves. We can simply 'take' the most outstanding one the School of the Wolf has already trained."
"But—but he isn't a witcher of the Griffin School!!" Keldar's voice rose sharply in shock. "From what I saw, Grandmaster Sol and the other witcher masters of the School of the Wolf already seem to have acknowledged that the next Grandmaster of the School of the Wolf will be Allen."
"How could he possibly betray the School of the Wolf and come to our Kaer Seren?"
"And this seems—seems rather inappropriate, doesn't it?"
"The Griffin School and the School of the Wolf have always been on good terms. If we do this, it could turn us against each other—"
Lucien was also puzzled, but suddenly something flashed through his mind. "The Witcher—Order?"
"Correct." Erland of Larvik gave a slight nod. "Allen told me he wants to rebuild the Witcher Order. I think it's a very good idea. What do you all think?"
The moment the words fell, the Griffin School outpost fell abruptly silent.
The Witcher Order.
What a familiar yet unfamiliar name.
No witcher failed to yearn for that era—for that magnificent age when witchers had first come into being.
It was not only old witchers like Lucien and Daniel, who had walked through the era of the Witcher Order, who felt nostalgic.
Jerome Moreau and Keldar, who had grown up listening to the stories of the Order—Alzur's speech of "Only a monster can fight a monster," the Griffin Knight's belief that "Witchers are not failed experiments, but the destined saviors of the world"—who had been moved countless times by the tales of the Order's arduous beginnings, carving out living space for humanity and safeguarding the growth of the race, and who had thus accepted the witcher creed—to resolve for humanity the monsters they could not face, and walk the path of glory—also yearned for it deeply.
But to truly return to that era, and with witchers of the School of the Wolf taking the lead—
Jerome Moreau, Keldar, Lucien, and Daniel all fell silent.
"Didn't Allen say before that the witcher schools and the Witcher Order are already things of the past?" Keldar could not help but say.
"Of course we wouldn't restore the Witcher Order exactly as it was," Erland of Larvik shook his head and lowered his gaze in thought for a few seconds. "Rather, we would rebuild the Witcher Order—or more precisely—"
"Rebuild the Witcher Corps."
Corps—
Jerome Moreau, Keldar, Lucien, and Daniel looked at one another, at a loss for words for a moment.
"No need to rush," Erland of Larvik waved his hand at the sight. "Whether it is an Order or a Corps, neither can be established in a short time."
"You can observe slowly during the expedition to Dol Dhu Lokke, and think it over at leisure—"
........