The moment Allen left the illusory Toussaint dreamscape Vera had constructed for Sol, the instinctive aversion and discomfort instantly faded.
The emotions left behind by the dead could never truly control the living.
Allen would never allow the feelings of the deceased to cloud his rational judgment—no matter how grateful he was to his former self for granting him a second chance at life.
Because in every sense, Vera and Sol were important to him.
And now, with those instinctive barriers lifted, their identities made them even more irreplaceable in Allen's eyes.
Especially Sol.
A virtuous and powerful grandmaster of the School of the Wolf—and even more, a blood relative who was both virtuous and powerful—these were two different identities in Allen's heart.
No matter the era, blood relatives, especially parents, were undeniably the most trustworthy.
Some may argue that parents can be harsh, cruel, or absent—but those are exceptions.
Compared to any other identity, even siblings or one's own children, parents remain the most reliable.
Had he known earlier about the identities of Sol and Vera and been free from the self-imposed restraints, Allen could have grown far beyond where he stood today.
Ever since the Grass Trial, a great deal of his energy had been spent on needless resistance.
Before the Mountain Trial, he focused on hiding his light, careful not to reveal all the talents granted by the Witcher Journal, lest they draw the envy of outsiders.
After becoming commander of the Witcher Corps, he worried that advancing too quickly and seizing too much power would attract the jealousy and retribution of the "rulers."
Even after descending the mountain, he still kept his distance from Vera and Sol, wary and cautious.
After all, Sol was the leader of the School of the Wolf, and Vera was a world-renowned alchemist and sorceress.
His eventual full reconciliation with Vera only came because of the sorceress's wholehearted sincerity.
From costly potions, to the sharing of knowledge, the building of connections, and genuine emotional care—no one could remain guarded in the face of such all-encompassing generosity.
Allen certainly couldn't.
His view of Sol had started to soften during the apprentice dueling tournament, thanks to those few Drowner Kings and Bog Nymphs that had been cut down and refined into "magic batons." But even before returning this time, he remained riddled with doubt.
After all, the fall of Kaedwen was a monumental event.
Though their intentions had been sound, their decision to tame the rampaging Griffin near Vengerberg and how they handled the Drakenborg situation had dragged the School of the Wolf into a future shrouded in uncertainty.
This move was highly controversial, and Allen's fate from that point onward almost entirely hinged on Sol's stance.
But as the Witcher Corps' future grew brighter by the day, and he had already accepted a house in Kaer Morhen, not to mention having just descended the mountain and immediately joined in slaying a massive Alghoul—
Could Sol, the founder of the School of the Wolf, truly have no ulterior motives?
As Allen's influence within the school expanded, could a leader really remain unaffected?
These doubts were only natural.
Politics is inherently dirty. The long history of East University in his past life had proven this point countless times.
That's why, after rescuing Bond from Drakenborg and returning to Ellander, he had rested for only a single night before rushing back without even collecting his reward for clearing out the ghouls in Ellander.
He had even risked his life to agree to Tissaia de Vries's request to rescue Hen Gedymdeith.
Why had he done that?
Sure, it was partly to win an ally for the School of the Wolf in its rivalry with Ban Ard and the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization—but securing an ally for himself had been just as important.
If he had known Sol's true identity, would he have acted so hastily?
Would he still have needed to risk his life by invoking Tissaia de Vries and Aretuza's reputation?
Of course not.
Had he known his identity was so prestigious, he still would've accepted the dangerous mission to rescue Hen Gedymdeith—but he would have negotiated for far greater rewards.
He also could have taken his time in Ellander, tying up all loose ends before returning. Therefore, from every angle, Allen had no reason to let the residual emotions of his past self interfere. On the contrary, he should be investing more deeply.
Besides, while in some sense he was both the middle manager whose achievements had been stolen and who had been poisoned by his boss, as well as the nameless child of the School of the Wolf who died during the Grass Trial—
On a larger, purer level, he had been profoundly blessed by Sol and Vera.
Regardless of their original intentions, Allen, who now stood in place of the former self, owed them a tremendous debt.
After calming down, the logic was clear and undeniable.
As for formally acknowledging them as family—Allen felt some resistance. But since Sol and Vera made no such demand, he'd let things unfold naturally.
[Ding! Spend 50 experience orbs to unlock Gene Mutation Studies?]
Gene Mutation Studies had been extracted long ago, during the Passolon Forest incident, when he'd salvaged memories from the clash between the Wild Hunt and a male sorcerer.
At the time, he thought it was just another useless piece of knowledge—who would've thought it would become a welcome surprise today?
The ancient Witcher's journal reflected in his eyes.
"Just a little longer," Allen thought to himself. "Even if the Legacy vessel likely won't be of use, I should at least wait for Ida Emean to produce results, uncover the principles of secondary mutation, and find the lab before unlocking it."
"By then, I can upgrade Genetic Mutation Studies as needed."
Still, he was determined to spend the fifty experience orbs.
"Unlocking Beast Roar: Forbidden Sky requires even more now," he frowned, "I need to figure out a way to get more experience orbs…"
As he mulled over money-making strategies, he pushed open the doors to the castle hall from the corridor.
It was late at night.
Witchers and apprentices, with little in the way of entertainment, usually turned in early.
At this hour, the castle hall should have been deserted—after all, it wasn't the dead of winter when nightly feasts and all-night drinking were common.
But now, as he pushed the doors open, there were still faint lights inside, seemingly coming from the dining area.
"Allen?" A female voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Francesca?" Allen looked up, surprised.
The fireplace was out, but by the long oak table sat Francesca Findabair, dressed in a rose-colored gown, looking in the dim light like a flickering flame.
"I thought you left?" he asked curiously.
Not long ago, he and Vera had personally seen Francesca Findabair out of the castle hall.
Francesca didn't answer right away but stood and peeked past him.
"Where's Lady Vera? Didn't she come down with you?"
"She… she and the Grandmaster had some things to discuss," Allen's expression was a little awkward, though he hid it well. "Why? You need to speak with her? Something about the pact?"
"No, no, it's not about the pact." Francesca waved her hand, her rosy lips lifting in a bright smile.
She murmured a few incantations, and at once, many plates carved with leaves, bows, and other delicate elven designs appeared on the oak table.
Then…
Pastries that looked like cookies, steaming roasted meat, and refreshing salads began to appear, one by one, on those elegant elven plates.
"Your Wolf School dinner hour passed long ago," Francesca said, carefully arranging the dishes. "After I returned, I saw Kariya and Sova—my personal guards—grilling meat. I figured you probably hadn't eaten, so I brought you some."
Although the signing of the pact and seeing Francesca off seemed recent, Vera and Sol's confession didn't take long either.
But considering the long corridors, hidden passages, and illusions Allen had to pass through, and his slow pace while pondering his next moves, at least an hour had gone by.
Which meant Francesca had been waiting in the castle hall for almost an hour.
Also…
Allen's gaze fell on the still-steaming roast meat, its juices sizzling audibly.
"Won't your guards mind?" Allen couldn't help but ask.
In this world, food didn't appear out of thin air—there was no magic spell that conjured roasted meat from nothing. So these dishes must have been summoned from somewhere.
In his mind, Allen imagined two solemn elven women grilling meat for an entire hour, their faces smudged with charcoal as they carefully monitored the temperature.
The mental image was incredibly vivid.
"Ah…" Francesca Findabair seemed caught off guard by his question. Her tone faltered. "Kariya and Sova are both very kind," she said.
She had dodged the question.
Understood.
Allen was definitely scolded quite severely just now.
Yeah, that image became even more vivid.
"Thanks."
Allen didn't press further. Nor did he act overly polite. He simply sat across from Francesca Findabair.
He had planned to chew on some dry rations to get by, but when there was better food—and a beautiful woman for company—why bother with tasteless, waxy hardtack?
Francesca smiled and conjured a white candle etched with delicate patterns. With a gentle spell, she lit it.
A strong sense of ceremony.
"Candlelight dinner?" Allen raised an eyebrow. He wasn't sure if witchers even had that kind of expression in their world.
But as the candlelight flickered, their gazes met through the steam rising from the food. The atmosphere at the table did feel slightly romantic.
They looked at each other and suddenly fell silent.
As if the person who had just been chatting away now couldn't find a single word.
The candlelight danced.
A faint blush crept onto Francesca Findabair's cheeks.
It was the first time Allen truly understood what it meant when people said someone was breathtakingly beautiful—not as a dramatic exaggeration.
But that gazing directly at such a face really could make you forget to breathe. As if it naturally cast a charm spell, beguiling human minds.
"Just now, your first question was whether Lady Vera came down with me. If she had… would this dinner still have happened?" Allen joked, breaking the romantic tension.
"No!" Francesca huffed in mock annoyance, then explained, "It's just… for some reasons, I don't really get along with her."
I get it. A feud that's practically blood vengeance… Allen thought to himself.
He hadn't expected that a grudge which had nothing to do with him until recently—something he could observe with detached curiosity—was now somehow pulling him in too.
Mentioning Vera completely shattered the romantic atmosphere. Worried she might actually show up at that moment, Francesca quickly added, "Let's not talk about it. Let's eat. Kariya's roasted meat is really delicious."
Allen nodded and focused on eating.
Yeah, the roasted meat really was good—rich and juicy. More importantly, it seemed to be seasoned with a hint of honey.
The rich aroma of fruitwood mingled with the slightly charred meat, making the mouth water with every bite.
The salad and those biscuit-like pastries were quite good as well.
Perhaps because Vera could appear at any moment, neither of them spoke much, and the dinner ended rather quickly.
Francesca Findabair only ate a few biscuits and pieces of meat. After politely offering some to Allen a few times, the rest ended up in his stomach.
"Dinner was excellent. Thank you for your hospitality," Allen praised.
Upon hearing that, Francesca Findabair smiled, her lips curving up happily. She gently swayed her head and chanted a short incantation.
In the blink of an eye, the plates, along with the leftovers, vanished from the long table. No one could say who would be cleaning up.
Though it was called dinner, it wasn't as if they'd just part ways right after eating.
Allen was about to suggest taking a walk.
"I'll be heading back soon, Allen. Back to the Free Elves' camp," Francesca Findabair said suddenly as they walked outside, her tone tinged with reluctance. "I won't get the chance to hear your introduction to Kaer Morhen this time."
"So soon?" Allen paused, a little surprised.
He had thought Francesca would stay at Kaer Morhen for at least another day or two.
"The message only arrived this evening," Francesca explained without hiding anything. "There's been some activity around Dol Blathanna lately. The Free Elves don't have many scouts to spare, and the camp needs Kariya and Sova."
"Do you know what kind of activity?" Allen asked with a frown, pushing open the great doors of the castle hall.
"Not exactly," Francesca shook her head. "The information from the camp is limited. The message simply urged us to end our trip to the Wolf School as soon as possible and return immediately."
"But it's probably nothing major."
"Dol Blathanna often has warlocks or slaver bands provoking us, hoping to catch elves who can't contain their anger…"
She trailed off, choosing not to elaborate.
But Allen's thoughts drifted to what had happened in the Forest of Passolon and at Drakenborg.
Considering Dol Blathanna's situation, and that Ortolan from the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization was still there, Allen cautioned: "Be careful. Ortolan is currently in Dol Blathanna. The Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization has always had... intentions toward non-humans—toward the Aen Seidhe."
"This time might be different from the past."
Francesca froze upon hearing this. Then she nodded firmly. "I'll tell Father about this. Thank you, Allen."
"We're friends," Allen said with a wave of his hand.
The two walked silently out of the castle hall.
At the entrance, Francesca stopped, and Allen followed suit.
After a few seconds of silence, she suddenly looked at him with pleading eyes and asked:
"According to the pact, the Wolf School will send a witcher to the camp to clear out monsters. Allen, will that witcher be you?"
"I'll try my best," Allen said, looking into her blue eyes—gentle like those of a doe. He couldn't bring himself to say no.
Besides, he was in desperate need of experience orbs right now. The more monster contracts, the better.
However, there was no telling when the Free Elves would arrange a portal to the camp. He might be heading to Toussaint soon, and later, he'd be off to rescue Hen Gedymdeith. The timing might not align.
Hearing Allen's promise, Francesca beamed. "Then, see you at the Free Elves' camp, Allen."
"See you at the Free Elves' camp, Francesca," Allen replied.
"That's not the right name," Francesca's blue eyes—damp like a doe's—locked onto him.
Allen paused for a few seconds, then softly said, "Farewell, Enid."
Night had fallen.
The stars hung low in the sky, and a lone moon rose high above.
.....
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