Was there finally a result about whether Sol could be treated using the Legacy Vessel?
Allen paused for a moment upon hearing this.
But with Francesca Findabair present, he didn't ask further. He simply nodded, indicating he understood.
The three of them, under the watchful gaze of the young witchers and apprentices, stepped into an unremarkable wooden door.
Click—
After the wooden door shut, it was a while before—
The castle hall suddenly burst into a noisy uproar, like boiling water.
"Spencer, you're amazing!" Clay gave Spencer a thumbs-up.
Gone was Spencer's earlier swagger. He slumped into his chair, looking pale as a sheet: "I'm doomed, I'm doomed…"
"Lady Vera will definitely remember me."
"It can't be that serious, right?" a young apprentice questioned. "Lady Vera might look cold, but I doubt she'd really hold a grudge against us?"
"That's because you don't know," Clay said, assuming the tone of someone in the know. "Outside, Lady Vera is called the Crimson Fox. I once—"
He launched into a harrowing tale of her fearsome exploits, enough to scare crying children into silence, leaving everyone else gasping.
Even the air in the hall felt warmer.
"Then Spencer's dead for sure?!" one apprentice exclaimed.
"Not necessarily," Clay switched gears. "Captain is Lady Vera's alchemy apprentice. Everyone knows Lady Vera likes Captain."
"If Spencer pleads with Captain and says a few good words, he should be fine."
"Yeah!" Spencer's eyes lit up. He sprang out of his chair. "If I ask Captain for help, this'll blow over for sure!"
His spirits restored, he brought up the earlier moment again: "Did you all see what Captain did at the end?"
The apprentices blinked. "What did he do?"
"He nodded!" Spencer said proudly, chin high. "Captain acknowledged that we hunted the Alghoul together. You guys seriously didn't notice?"
The apprentices exchanged looks. In all the tension earlier, many hadn't caught Allen's subtle gesture—but quite a few had.
"You guys really did that?"
"Of course!" the seven young witchers replied in unison.
The atmosphere turned lively again. The apprentices looked excited and eager.
"So how did you improve so much?" one of them asked eagerly. "Just months ago, you were struggling even with Drowners…"
"That was just Spencer almost getting bitten, not the rest of us," Clay quickly distanced himself.
Spencer glared. "That was an accident! An accident!"
No one paid him much mind.
Klar and Erni exchanged glances, organized their thoughts, and said: "The secret to improving quickly? Once you're qualified to be chosen for the Witcher Corps, you'll naturally find out."
"And we only managed to hunt an Alghoul by teaming up. Captain? He took down an Alghoul with a single sword strike."
"Whoa!" the apprentices gasped in amazement.
"You think that's all?" Spencer jumped back into the conversation. "An Alghoul is nothing to Captain. Ever heard of the Royal Griffin?"
"His mount!"
"A legendary source of magical energy, seen only once in a thousand years among sorcerers—defeated by Captain, forced to flee in shame."
"And that's not all…"
Spencer wagged his finger, cutting off their astonishment mid-gasp.
"Do you know what they call Captain in Temeria's Ellander now?"
"What?" the apprentices asked, wide-eyed.
Spencer smirked, arms crossed, and said one word at a time: "God! Slayer!"
"Yes!"
"Captain killed an evil god!"
Well… technically, it was just an avatar of an evil god. But with the atmosphere this hyped, adding that little clarification would totally ruin the vibe. So Spencer instinctively skipped that detail, and the other six young witchers didn't correct him either.
It's not like they were reporting to Deputy Captain Aristo—when it came to bragging, of course they'd do it however they liked.
Besides, in their eyes, there wasn't much of a difference between killing an incarnation of an evil god and slaying an evil god outright.
"Woaah—"
The castle hall erupted in an unprecedented outcry, like a mighty tidal wave rising from flat ground.
For witchers who upheld the value of strength above all else, the most powerful leader was naturally a hero whose own power stood at the pinnacle.
And with that mysterious method of rapid strength enhancement added to the mix, the apprentices' admiration and longing for the Witcher Corps—and for Allen—soared to an all-time high.
If Allen were to stay now and personally accept new members into the Witcher Corps, their starting loyalty would be no less than eighty percent.
Of course—
Spencer and the other young witchers weren't boasting just to recruit for the Witcher Corps.
They were all barely thirteen-year-old kids; they couldn't think that far ahead.
To them, bragging about Allen and showing off the Witcher Corps wasn't much different from bragging about themselves—it brought immense satisfaction either way.
It was a sign they had fully embraced the group. Totally normal.
But their boasting did make the apprentices incredibly envious.
"Brother Spencer, how do I get into the Witcher Corps? Look at me—do I stand a chance?"
"No way, I've beaten you so many times already. Brother Spencer, what about me…"
Some apprentices even went to Klar and Erni to volunteer themselves.
Because of Spencer's bragging, Allen's original plan to think carefully about how to recruit new members was basically completed in advance.
Yes—Allen and the Witcher Corps still had to think carefully about how to attract recruits.
After all, the Corps was joined voluntarily. Skilled witchers wouldn't necessarily want to give up their freedom.
In fact, not all of Klar and Erni's group of witchers had joined the Corps.
Of course, Allen didn't know that yet.
As he walked up the stairs, a string of system notifications popped up in the Witcher's Journal.
[Ding! Witcher Corps member Erni's loyalty increased from 96 to 97.]
[Ding! Witcher Corps member Klar's loyalty increased from 95 to 96.]
[Ding! Witcher Corps member Clay's loyalty increased from 93 to 94.]
…
[Ding! Witcher Corps member Spencer's loyalty increased from 92 to 96.]
"What just happened?" Allen couldn't help but scratch his head.
In just a brief moment, every member of the Witcher Corps had their loyalty increase—each of them by one point on average.
Spencer, who originally had the lowest loyalty among them, suddenly skyrocketed by four points, leaping to the top ranks.
[Corps Name: Wolfpack]
[Rank: Tier Four]
…
[Members: 10/25]
[Loyalty Levels: Hughes 100 (Devoted), Bond 100 (Devoted), Fred 100 (Devoted), Erni 97 (+1), Klar 96 (+1), Spencer 96 (+4), Clay 94 (+1), Ice 93 (+1), Hugh 93 (+1), Silo 93 (+1)]
[Skills: Loot Lock LV2, Teach LV2, Resonance LV2, Bestowal LV1]
Allen guessed that the sudden spike in loyalty was most likely centered around Spencer.
Considering what had just happened in the castle hall, he had a suspicion in mind—though it still needed confirmation.
Loyalty had always been notoriously difficult to raise.
Hughes, Bond, and Fred had reached the level of unwavering devotion so quickly only because they were from the same generation of witchers. They had endured the most excruciating Grass Trial together and faced life-or-death struggles during the Mountain Trial.
And even that hadn't been enough.
Fred's unwavering loyalty came from Allen saving him from the hands of a rock troll during the trial—resolving a longstanding grudge from the Mountain Trial.
As for Bond, it had taken a bottle of Verdant Sigh after the ambush by the Cat School at Ban Ard.
Both of them owed Allen their lives more than once.
But with Erni, Klar, and the others, aside from the unexpected situation with Vilgefortz, Allen had never placed them in such dire situations—nor would he ever fabricate one just to boost loyalty.
Naturally, their loyalty grew slowly.
It made sense that every new member reaching unwavering loyalty would unlock a very practical corps skill. The Witcher's Journal wasn't generous without reason.
"I'll have to ask what really happened just now…" Allen thought.
Fabricating dramatic rescues to boost loyalty was obviously not acceptable—but putting in some thought to find small, everyday ways to build it? That was definitely worthwhile.
"Resonance," the corps skill that could only be triggered through high loyalty, had never been activated yet, but Allen had long yearned for it.
The members of the Witcher Corps wouldn't, and couldn't, dedicate themselves as recklessly as he did.
His vision of "Resonance" was a unified system of offense and defense, integrating all members' abilities. That was the future of the Witcher Corps.
"Sol's condition is rather unique—I hope you won't spread it around," Lady Vera suddenly spoke, interrupting his thoughts.
It was the first time anyone had spoken since they stepped into the corridor.
Allen, Vera, and Francesca Findabair all had plenty to discuss one-on-one—but with all three together, it was strangely silent.
This silence was the reason Allen had even noticed the sudden surge in loyalty. Walking in awkward quiet was too boring, so he turned to the Witcher's Journal to pass the time.
"Don't worry, Lady Vera," Francesca Findabair said, casting a seemingly casual glance at Allen. "I'll keep the secret. I won't speak of it to anyone."
Vera glanced at Allen and nodded.
"Mm. I trust you."
The three of them passed through the hidden path, winding around several corners, and soon arrived before a massive wolf-head door made of anti-magic alloy.
Surprisingly, Vera didn't warn Allen and Francesca to brace themselves. As soon as they reached the door, she activated the teleportation array.
Allen wasn't subjected to the pressure of the Red Dragon's aura this time. He was transported directly to Toussaint's back garden.
As always, the world behind the door looked like something out of a fairytale—vibrant and vividly saturated.
Even someone like Francesca, the elven princess, froze for a moment upon seeing the sea of blooming blue flowers.
But only for a moment.
She quickly recovered, her expression tinged with sorrow and regret, and said, "A brilliant illusion, Lady Vera. This must be Toussaint."
It wasn't a question—it was a statement.
Clearly, Francesca Findabair, though living deep in the far eastern Blue Mountains, had been to Toussaint before.
Vera raised her eyebrows at the words and glanced at Francesca Findabair. "It seems the Free Elves are still clinging to their past glory."
"Who wouldn't feel attachment to their homeland?" Francesca replied, not backing down.
Vera didn't mind her tone. As she led the way forward, she said casually, "Toussaint was never the homeland of the Aen Seidhe. It never was."
"But it isn't the humans' either," Francesca retorted stubbornly.
Vera gave no comment.
Both the Aen Seidhe and humans were outsiders. The elves just arrived earlier—and fell behind earlier, ultimately replaced by humans.
As the victors and beneficiaries of the war, the humans could afford a bit of magnanimity toward the vanquished.
As for Allen, he did not involve himself in this sudden and short-lived exchange that had little to do with him.
The debate between Vera and Francesca Findabair was actually quite interesting—especially because of who they were.
Toussaint was once the royal court of the Elven Kingdom. Francesca Findabair, through her maternal line, Sadia, traced her bloodline back to the last Elven King of the Aen Seidhe, Divethaf, who surrendered and swore allegiance to the first human king of Toussaint.
Meanwhile, Vera and Sol were both from noble families of Toussaint.
Sol was even part of the ducal line under Henrietta.
Allen might not have studied noble genealogy, but by tracing their bloodline, both Sol and Vera could most likely be linked back to the first human king of Toussaint, Ludovic. Otherwise, Henrietta's family would not have ruled Toussaint as grand dukes for generations.
Moreover, Vera had participated in the Aen Elle Rebellion a hundred years ago—the very war that crushed the elves' hopes of resurgence.
It was during that elven rebellion that Vera seriously wounded Sadia, crippling her ability to cast magic, and carved her name into the glorious epics of humankind.
All things considered, both sides were, in essence, old enemies.
And now they were to form an alliance. It felt like one of those twists of fate that made you sigh.
Of course, their alliance wasn't built on forgiveness or reconciliation. Saving Sadia played only a small part. The main reason was mutual interest.
The School of the Wolf needed the strength of the Free Elves to counter the sorcerer factions like Ban Ard.
The Free Elves were on the verge of extinction. Every bit of strength was precious. Like drowning men, they had to grasp every straw they could.
They needed the Witchers' strength just as badly.
In the face of survival, old grudges, positions, races, and identities could all be set aside—for now.
And so—
The head of the School of the Wolf, Sol, and the envoy of the Aen Seidhe Free Elves, Francesca Findabair, met and, surprisingly cordially and without incident, signed a secret alliance pact on a piece of ancient parchment.
It happened smoothly, without drama.
The terms of the alliance were simple—just two clauses.
Clause One:
A long-term teleportation array would be secretly established between the Free Elves' base and Kaer Morhen, the stronghold of the School of the Wolf.
The array would be constructed by Free Elf alchemists and ritual masters, while the costly materials would be funded by the Witchers.
Clause Two:
Once the teleportation array was completed, the Free Elves would station a fixed number of warriors to help defend Kaer Morhen.
In return, the Witchers would secretly send hunters to periodically clear monsters around the Elven base. This was only a temporary trial pact, but it benefited both sides.
Whether the alliance would deepen or break off in the future would depend on circumstances.
After signing the pact, Allen and Vera escorted Francesca Findabair out of the Toussaint illusion, and out of the castle hall.
By then, the young Witchers and apprentices had finished their dinner and left the hall.
Then—
Allen had thought that what would follow next was the implementation of the heroic vessel's treatment plan, or some other therapy, or perhaps the results of Tomas Moreau's second mutation.
But instead, Vera, without a word, led him back into the illusion of Toussaint—and brought him once again into that small wooden cabin.
Then he heard Vera ask softly: "Allen, have you ever thought about your origins?"
.....
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