South Tower, Third Floor.
After being back in Kaer Morhen for most of the day, Allen finally returned to his own room for the first time.
The course of events—good or bad—had gone completely differently from what he had envisioned back in the Temple of Melitele.
The good news was, the punishment he'd expected from the School or the Grandmaster never came.
The bad news was... the Grandmaster of the Wolf School might not make it.
To be honest, Allen hadn't interacted with Sol that many times—even counting since he arrived in this world, not even ten fingers would be needed.
In his mind, Sol was a decent leader—but that was all.
Donating the vessel for Ronnie Dickinson's Legacy Vessel without asking for anything in return—that alone was already more than anyone could expect.
He truly hoped that this Legacy Vessel could solve Sol's problem.
But whether a soul's trauma could be healed through a second mutation... no one knew.
What was certain was that doing nothing—no adjustments, no preparations—meant the chances of aggravating the trauma far outweighed the odds of healing it.
Click.
Closing the wooden door softly behind him, Allen took a deep breath. Unexpectedly, he didn't catch Vera's scent. Instead, what lingered faintly in the air was the fragrance of oranges.
Allen raised an eyebrow.
In the thick darkness, he didn't bother lighting the candles in the room. He walked forward with practiced ease, skirted around the screen, lifted his hand, and pushed—
Creeeeak—
With the groan of two tall wooden doors, brilliant daylight pierced the darkness. Summer wind howled in from the distant southern mountains, rushing into the balcony and dispersing the orange scent from the air.
It also illuminated the familiar layout of the room—unchanged but comfortingly familiar.
Though no one had lived in it for two or three months, the room was even cleaner than it had been when he'd stayed in Kaer Morhen.
"Must've been Mary..."
Though the breeze had scattered the scent, it still lingered faintly. That subtle trace was enough for Allen to know—Mary had come here many times. Clearly, the door lock meant nothing to the two sorceresses who resided permanently at Kaer Morhen.
Then again, there wasn't really anything private in this room to worry about.
Aside from standard clothes, a leather jerkin, a bathtub gifted by Vera, and a large raw ruby given by the stone giant for decoration—it was terribly plain.
Unlike the younger witchers, who decorated with unicorns, scorpions, or wooden horses—plenty of flair.
Speaking of unicorns...
"I forgot to ask Vera and Mary about Yennefer," Allen thought. "I wonder how that little girl—'bitter as currant, sweet as lilac'—is progressing?"
As one of the future most powerful sorceresses of the Northern Continent, Yennefer's talent was worth watching.
Taking a few steps forward, he rested his hands on the gray-white marble railing and looked out into the distance.
The sky was deep blue.
Clouds floated leisurely like silk ribbons.
A short-winged azure hawk circled the forest below, casting its golden eyes toward the bipedal creature standing on the white balcony.
Compared to the perilous, blood-soaked Drakenborg or the constantly afflicted Ellander and Ban Ard, Kaer Morhen felt like a mountain resort—so calm and peaceful that it made Allen slightly uncomfortable.
After spending a bit too long at Francesca's place, it was now just past lunch.
The timing was awkward—four or five hours until evening. It felt like he could go anywhere, yet none of the choices were ideal.
He could check on promising young recruits for the Witcher Corps and test the remaining fifteen trial slots... Or visit the Circle of Elements to see how the Stone and Metal Trolls were integrating...
Or simply go downstairs to see Mary and Yennefer and ask about the changes around Kaer Morhen over the past few months...
But the more he thought about it, the more troublesome all those options seemed.
The truth was—he was just feeling lazy.
Like coming home after a full workday in his past life, when every cell in his body rejected the idea of stepping back out the door. All he wanted to do was scroll on his phone or watch a movie.
But in the world of witchers, there were no phones. No rich and colorful entertainment.
After staring for a while at the majestic scenery unique to Kaer Morhen's balcony, Allen took a deep breath, satisfied, and returned to the room to think about his next steps.
The currently known task was the rescue of Hen Gedymdeith.
That meant, in the short term, training with Philippa Eilhart to prepare for that rescue. However, due to Ida Emean's arrival and the Grandmaster's injuries, the second mutation had become the new top priority.
But that, in turn, disrupted the original plan.
In the source material—or rather, the game—when Geralt found Tomas Moreau and underwent a successful second mutation, the plot showed that one didn't need to push attributes to the limit to succeed.
As long as you were a witcher, it seemed impossible to fail.
After all, both Tomas Moreau's son, the Griffin School witcher Jerome Moreau, and Geralt—the only two known to attempt the second mutation—had succeeded. Still, Allen was concerned that one's base attributes might influence the results of the mutation.
Therefore, things couldn't go as originally planned—just blindly hunting monsters as fast as possible before news of Hen Gedymdeith's rescue arrived, hoping to unlock "Beast Roar: Forbidden Sky." He had to carefully select his prey.
While gathering the experience pearls needed to unlock "Beast Roar: Forbidden Sky," he also had to manage his time wisely and pick monsters that could enhance Agility, Constitution, Perception, and Mysticism.
Otherwise, rushing into the second mutation would be a huge waste.
On the other hand, before rescuing Hen Gedymdeith, the second mutation was absolutely necessary. It wasn't an option to skip it just because he couldn't max out the attributes.
That made no sense.
If he hadn't managed to pry any information out of Tomas Moreau, that would've been one thing. But now that he had—and he knew what had to be done—it had to be used before the mission to rescue Hen Gedymdeith began.
Allen had a clear understanding of his own strength.
Tissaia de Vries, Duke Mason, even Vesemir—no, especially Vesemir—might have a certain misconception.
Looking at Allen's record, never once failing, they might assume his power was unfathomable. But Allen himself knew exactly where he stood.
The [Monster Hunt] ability and "Beast Roar: Berserk" seemed to propel his strength to terrifying heights—as if, given enough time, he could kill gods and demons alike.
But the reality?
[Monster Hunt] had a serious flaw in its range of attack. Without many powerful long-range spells, Allen had to rely on close combat to build up his execution meter.
Even then, his effectiveness depended on whether the monster type matched the oils he had and whether he could break through its defenses.
Right—when planning his next hunts, he also had to prioritize monsters for which he hadn't yet collected the corresponding blade oils.
More work added to the list.
Also, groups of powerful monsters, or those with aggressive instincts and rapid attacks that left little room to counter, or creatures like the Pale Widow, giant centipedes, and Water hags—types that could burrow underground...
All of these situations could render [Monster Hunt] useless.
The ones he had encountered in the past were either situations where he was fully prepared and could turn it into a one-on-one fight—like his first hunt against the Drowner King—or cases where he was underestimated due to his lack of reputation, like the ambush by Vilgefortz, the forced intrusion into the Drakenborg–Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization's lab, or the swift killing of Ronnie Dickinson…
But things wouldn't always be so convenient in the future.
Especially after the Drakenborg incident, where everyone who had the authority now knew he had a royal griffin.
He even had to be prepared for assassination attempts at any time.
What use would Monster Hunt be then?
As for Beast Roar: Berserk, its applicability was even narrower. Due to its intense side effects, it could only be used when the surrounding environment was confirmed safe—like a one-on-one arena duel—or when facing a desperate last stand where risking death was the only way out.
The former was a paradox in most situations, and the latter was exactly what Allen had been trying to avoid all along.
So—
Excluding those two abilities, Allen's actual strength wasn't weak, but it definitely wasn't invincible.
One-on-one, if he wasn't using tricks or being underestimated, he'd probably be slightly stronger than a mid-tier mage of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers.
That wasn't him belittling himself or lacking confidence.
Because he still vividly remembered—Vera, a high council member of the Brotherhood, had once cast a near-instant blood mist transformation curse.
A wave of red mist expanded and dissipated—and the thousands of Drowners on Killer Lake all turned into leeches.
Put himself in that situation—even with Monster Hunt and Beast Roar: Berserk, he wouldn't have ended up much better than the Drowners.
Ronnie Dickinson had just been a lucky break. A narrow lab, a sudden attack—but that was the exception, not the rule. Treating it as the norm would be suicidal.
Moreover—
Even within the School of the Wolf, he wasn't the strongest.
Forget the injured Chief Sol—for now, without Monster Hunt or Beast Roar: Berserk, his level might be higher than Vesemir and Danthe, but roughly equal to or slightly below Aristo.
He still clearly remembered Aristo's spinning slash that sparked flames in the air.
In terms of the Witcher's Journal, Aristo's two-handed sword mastery from the School of the Wolf was at least Level 9.
If Allen didn't have the advantage in attributes, how was he even supposed to fight such monsters?
Not to mention, that was just a sparring match. Who knew what other techniques a legendary witcher, famed for hundreds of years and older than Vesemir himself, might still be hiding?
That's why—
If there's a way to power up before a coming crisis and you don't take it, who knows if you'll get another chance...
This wasn't a game. There were no save points to reload.
"This is really a pain…" Allen muttered, his head aching. "Where am I even supposed to find so many monsters? And fast, and accurately…"
Flap flap
Just as Allen was feeling troubled, a strange noise came from the direction of the balcony.
He turned toward the sound.
A grey-brown-feathered owl flew over the railing and landed on the terrace.
Buzz
The wolf medallion hummed with a flash of purple light.
Philippa Eilhart stepped boldly across the threshold, barefoot between the room and the balcony.
"At the very least, I'm a man—could you show a little respect?" Allen said flatly as he stared at the sorceress summoning a silk robe that, rather than covering anything, only accentuated certain areas even more.
After slipping into the robe, she gracefully and leisurely tied the silk belt around her waist.
He wasn't surprised that the sorceress had found him. He hadn't made any effort to hide, and the door to the terrace was wide open.
If Philippa Eilhart couldn't find him, that would have been far more concerning.
Rescuing Hen Gedymdeith wasn't exactly a walk in the park.
"No," Philippa muttered a short incantation, summoned a glass of red wine, and sat herself down casually on a bench near the terrace. After taking a light sip, she raised an eyebrow in playful provocation, her tone dripping with allure, "You're just a boy, my dear partner."
"Hm…"
She seemed to remember something and added with emphasis, "A very popular boy."
Allen's expression darkened, but he didn't bother arguing. Instead, he changed the topic. "You don't have a place to stay yet. After I meet with Lady Vera tonight, I'll ask her to—"
"No need," Philippa interrupted lazily, swirling her wine glass. "We're partners. Naturally, I'll be living with you."
"How else are we supposed to build rapport, my little partner…"
She extended a blood-red lilac tongue and slowly licked a wine droplet from her lips.
"Unless… you're scared?"
"Scared of what?" Allen rolled his eyes.
Scared of getting into a fairy brawl?
"Do as you like," he replied sourly, and went back to thinking about where to find monsters that would yield suitable heart essence fluid.
The room fell quiet for a while.
Until—
"Is Grandmaster Sol in poor health?" Philippa asked casually.
Allen showed no reaction, not even lifting his head. "That doesn't seem like any of your business."
"Of course not," the sorceress smirked. "Just curious, is all."
"After all, I am a guest. And when a guest enters the host's home, it's customary to greet them—otherwise, that's called breaking and entering."
"There'll be a chance," Allen said vaguely.
Philippa didn't press further. She continued swirling her glass, sipping idly as she gazed out over the misty mountain range.
Oddly, that very lack of probing made the excuses Allen had prepared in haste… completely useless.
A chill crept into Allen's heart.
He didn't believe Philippa Eilhart had asked that question just out of idle curiosity.
Though they were cooperating for now, and Tissaia de Vries and the School of the Wolf had more or less formed an unspoken alliance, Allen hadn't forgotten the betrayal Philippa would commit in the future—betraying her lover, her mentor, her nation, her allies. No one was off limits.
Ambitious, fervent, always hungry for greater power.
She and Tissaia de Vries were never truly on the same path.
Compared to an alliance between Aretuza and the School of the Wolf, a partnership between the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization and Ban Ard seemed more fitting for a Sorceress Brotherhood's field agent.
Especially now that the School of the Wolf had lost its greatest pillar—had lost the North's most powerful witcher, its mightiest warrior—Sol…
He might've just invited the wolf into the house.
.....
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