The griffin carved into the door knocker suddenly burst forth with a blood-red glow from its eyes, enveloping Ida Emean and Allen.
Buzzz~
The wolf medallion hummed, and Allen's hair stood on end.
A sea serpent seemed to slither up from beneath his feet, its scales rasping as it coiled around his leg. But when he looked down, there was nothing there.
"Don't resist."
Ida Emean's voice sounded in his mind, and Allen immediately forced himself to suppress the discomfort.
The strange sensation quickened, spiraling upward until it wrapped completely around his body.
Then—
A flash of deep violet light appeared before his eyes, and Allen felt his body grow light as an intense suction pulled at him.
When he came back to his senses, his feet were on solid ground.
"We've arrived?"
"Yes, we have." Ida Emean made a gesture.
A bright orb of light floated upward, banishing the thick darkness.
What came into view was an arched doorway carved with leaf motifs, and beneath their feet, stone bricks dyed with floral patterns — all in typical elven style.
But both the arch and the bricks were cloaked in heavy dust, giving them a dilapidated appearance.
Beyond the arch lay unfathomable darkness; the opposite side was blocked by heaps of rubble and soil.
This place had only one exit — the archway before them.
"Judging by the style, this looks like an auction hall," Ida Emean said, glancing down at the pattern on the floor tiles. "It was also used as an arena and art gallery. In the days of Divethaf, all major mountain-folk cities had auction halls like this."
"In the mild weather of summer and autumn, it served as a dueling ground for swordsmanship and magic. In winter, the mountain-folk artists would retreat indoors, spending the season distilling their insights into artworks to be exhibited and auctioned the following spring."
"You seem familiar with this," Allen observed. "Are you from the age of Divethaf?"
Ida Emean's lifespan had always been a mystery.
In the original work, when she first appeared, she was already a reclusive Sage dwelling deep in the Blue Mountains. She had little contact not only with humans, but even with her own kin.
Soon after her debut in the original work, she joined the Lodge of Sorceresses, becoming its most enigmatic member.
Yet, from Allen's own experience…
Ida Emean was nothing like the indifferent figure in the books who ignored the fate of her kin.
On the contrary, whether half a year ago in Ban Ard or now in Kaer Morhen, this Blue Mountain elf seemed to be working tirelessly for the cause of the free elves. There was, perhaps, an explanation for this change.
In the original, Francesca Findabair had a complete falling-out with her father, the ruler of the free elves, another Sage named Simlas Finn aep Dabairr.
Francesca was still young now, so it was not yet an issue — but in a few years, that rift would split the free elves beyond repair.
Perhaps it was because of the future scheming and kin-slaying among the free elves that Ida Emean, disheartened, would one day retreat deep into the Blue Mountains.
Of course, that was only speculation.
Still, Allen was deeply curious about her.
"No one ever taught you never to ask a sorceress about her age?"
Ida Emean drew back her gaze and shot him a sidelong look.
"I wasn't born among the Toussaint mountain-folk. My home is in Shaerrawedd. I can recognize the surroundings simply because the layout of every major mountain-folk city is much the same."
"Shaerrawedd also once had an arena like this."
She hadn't denied being from the age of Divethaf… Allen thought. That meant she had been born at least four hundred years ago, before the year 781.
Four centuries. Twenty years a generation — that was twenty generations. So… this was what it meant to be of a long-lived race.
"I can feel you're thinking something impolite, Allen." Ida Emean frowned slightly.
At her words, Allen calmly dismissed the thoughts in his mind and changed the subject.
"I was just wondering what the cities of old Beauclair and Shaerrawedd must have looked like."
Ida Emean gave him a long look but did not press the matter.
She waved her right hand, motioning for Allen to follow.
The light orb drifted ahead, illuminating their path.
"Old Beauclair wasn't much different from now," she said softly. "Though the mountain-folk sank the Nine Valleys into the Sansretour River, those valleys were once the heart of the world."
"Elves, dwarves, halflings, gnomes… even humans — countless races came to the Nine Valleys to contribute their craft."
"That's why most of the craftsmen Ludovic hired to renovate and expand the city had been here before."
"As for Shaerrawedd…"
Her tone grew gentler.
"It was a city entirely unlike Beauclair."
"At its heart was a fountain, adorned with statues of the Sea Goddess and Her sisters at play in the waves. Pure, sweet spring water would gush from the mouths of dolphins, pearl shells, and seahorses carved in stone…"
"White roses, as pure as lilies, bloomed year-round around the fountain, tended by mountain-folk gardeners."
"Those roses were the Sea Goddess's favorite flowers on land. It's said She would leave the sea just to admire them, blessing every river, stream, and lake She passed on the way…"
"Nowadays, few in the Northern Realms know of the Sea Goddess. Since Shaerrawedd's destruction, no free elf has worshipped Her."
"And almost no one knows that Shaerrawedd's white roses were the Sea Goddess's sacred offering — just as carnations are to Melitele…"
With a wave of her hand, Ida Emean lit the torches along the walls as they went.
"Indeed," Allen nodded, stepping around a pile of rubble and climbing the stone steps, "I only know of the other Shaerrawedd white rose."
Ida Emean's steps paused, and she let out a long sigh.
"Aelirenn, is it?"
"She safeguarded the honor and dignity of the mountain folk… but lost all hope in the process."
"Still, she was a good child."
Aelirenn — the tragic elven resistance leader — was known among elves as "The White Rose of Shaerrawedd."
A hundred and twenty years ago, faced with humans who were relentlessly encroaching on elven lands, Aelirenn refused to follow the elders' passive policy of seclusion — waiting for humanity's decline through the slow passage of an elven lifetime.
Instead, she roused the younger elves to follow her in a desperate war against humans — a war doomed to fail.
Almost all of the young elves joined Aelirenn on the battlefield.
They saw Shaerrawedd as their symbol, and they fought to defend the elven city — for freedom, and for honor.
But the war's defeat was inevitable. The young elves were massacred by humans, and the Aen Seidhe lost any chance of rising again.
Even so, in later generations she remained a symbol of the fight for freedom.
Under Francesca Findabair's rule, the Scoia'tael still marched to war in the name of Aelirenn and Shaerrawedd.
In Allen's eyes, Aelirenn's legacy was difficult to judge.
On one hand, she had squandered the lives of nearly all able-bodied elves — a race already struggling to reproduce. On the other, she had kept their fighting spirit alive, becoming a banner of resistance even in the far future.
Which mattered more… was hard to say.
One could only conclude that the age of the elves had truly ended. The gap in population was unbridgeable, and while elves excelled at magic, their skill was nowhere near enough to make up for the numbers. Whatever choice was made, it was bound to be wrong.
At the mention of Aelirenn, Ida Emean fell silent again, wordlessly leading the way.
Tomas Moreau's laboratory was clearly much larger than it had been in the game Allen remembered from his previous life.
Or rather — Tomas Moreau's laboratory was only a small part of what had once been the largest arena of the Aen Seidhe in the Nine Valleys.
As Ida Emean had predicted before they dove underwater, since this was a laboratory and not a tomb designed to kill intruders, there were no traps waiting at the entrance.
For quite a while, their journey was nothing but monotonous walking.
And with Ida Emean remaining silent, the trek felt even more tedious.
The sound of their footsteps crunching on gravel and stone slabs echoed eerily in the empty arena.
Only when Allen had crossed a particularly long hall and stepped into a corridor-like passage did Ida Emean finally speak: "We're almost at the laboratory. Up ahead is the first challenge, the panther statues."
"Got it," Allen nodded, becoming alert.
Allen's right hand instinctively reached for Elsa's sword, but after a moment's thought, he switched to Balmur instead.
Reality wasn't a game — in The Witcher 3, even a monster with a body like diamond would still take some damage from any random sword.
But in reality, never mind a gargoyle — even the sturdiest longsword could chip the moment it struck an ordinary stone, and if too much force was applied, it might even break outright. This was doubly true for a silver sword, which was softer than a steel blade.
[Name: Balmur]
[Type: Artifact]
[Function: Steel Cleave, Demon Slash, Armor Break, Banish Evil, Extinguish Fate]
[Note: This sword's history is even more legendary than that of its master, Zatret Voruta. And here's a little secret—Zatret Voruta is also a Child of Miracles.]
Though Balmur could be temperamental, the "Steel Cleave" and "Armor Break" tags at least meant it was exceptionally durable.
Back during the summoning ritual, after hunting down the avatar of an evil god, Allen had used it for routine hunts against ghouls and other minor monsters. While it couldn't quite match the thrill or ease of Elsa, it was about on par with an ordinary silver sword.
Clang~
The blade slid from its sheath.
True to form, Balmur gave a faint shiver, like a lazy yawn, acknowledging its wielder.
"What is that…?" Ida Emean seemed to sense something, stopping in her tracks and looking back in surprise.
Allen smiled, twirling the blade in a flourish. "A steel sword."
Ida Emean gave him a long, searching look. "I have a way to disable the Panther Statue. You still plan to take it on yourself?"
"Let's give it a try," Allen nodded.
She said nothing more, simply pointed toward the passage at the end. "It's right there."
As she spoke, a bright orb of light flew straight through the archway, illuminating a short, round corridor between two arched gates.
Inside the passage, four black panther statues stood guard at the cardinal points.
Allen glanced upward — the nearest arch also had a mechanism. Likely, the moment he entered, the corridor would lock…
Snap~
Ida Emean flicked her hand, sending an ice spike shooting into the center above the archway.
The mechanism was effortlessly disabled.
Without further delay, Allen curled his thumb and forefinger, sketching a triangle in the air before himself to cast a Quen Sign, then stepped straight into the passage.
Tap… tap… tap…
His crisp footsteps echoed back and forth in the corridor.
He rolled his shoulders, bones cracking with a satisfying pop-pop.
Come on then.
Let's see what a sorceress's tricks can do!
Click~
The moment his right foot touched the corridor's center, a strange noise rippled through the space.
At once, a pale violet barrier flared to life on the opposite archway.
"Feels a bit like diving into a dungeon in a game," Allen quirked an eyebrow, then dashed forward in a few quick strides.
Sensing the magical strength of the barrier, his right hand twisted, sword flashing through the air to strike it head-on.
The violet film shuddered violently, sending a strong rebound force up the blade.
At least nine full-power strikes… Allen estimated — though few could muster his kind of strength.
Vmmm~
Balmur trembled in irritation.
The seemingly ordinary, rough longsword glinted coldly and, as if slicing through tofu, pierced straight through the barrier.
Crack!
The light screen froze for an instant, then shattered like glass, scattering into drifting violet motes.
This was… Demon Slash?
Allen tightened his grip, feeling as though Balmur had merged completely with his right hand.
It was the first time he'd used Balmur to break a magical barrier — and the result was far better than he'd expected.
If a magic barrier could be pierced directly, then what about other magic?
If Allen grew even more attuned with Balmur, could he slice through a fireball, block an Alzur's thunderbolt…?
Whoosh—
A sudden dark wind swept from behind, chilling the back of his head.
Allen's heart tightened—he lowered himself and stepped forward, bursting through the archway while glancing back.
Clack!
A lifelike stone black panther, its mouth gaping with sharp fangs, snapped shut exactly where his head had just been, producing a heavy, muffled thud.
Had he not dodged, his skull would've been shattered on the spot.
Roar—
Missing its mark, the panther landed lightly on the ground.
It was hard to imagine a stone statue moving so gracefully—it was almost like a real jungle predator.
The other three black panthers leapt down from their pedestals as well, staggering their positions as they closed in on Allen.
Both sides faced off.
Since the panthers carried none of the chaotic magical pressure of truly enchanted beasts, Allen tried to read their movements for weaknesses.
Then—
"Want me to take out two of them?" Aida Emin called from beyond the other archway.
"No need."
"Then you should step into the passage. These Panther Statues can't step beyond the two arches…"
Still holding his sword in a guarded stance, Allen froze and glanced down.
Sure enough—
The four stone panthers, though snarling ferociously, were all bunched together, never stepping beyond the archway's boundary, merely baring their teeth at him.
He'd been showing off for an audience that couldn't even reach him.
In the slightly awkward silence, Allen was about to step through the stone door when a thought struck him and he halted.
He pulled a dimeritium bomb from his reagent pouch and tossed it into the center of the four panthers. At the same time, he twirled his sword in a flourish and prepared to enter the passage.
The next second—
Snap—
Allen's body froze again.
[Ding! Monster "Panther Statue" defeated!]
[Reward calculation: …]
.....
📢Advanced chapters on p@treaon📢
For advance chapters: [email protected]/Uchiha_Itachi007 (replace @ with a)
1. 20 advanced chapters of The Witcher: Wolf School's Hunting Notes.
2. 30 advanced chapters of What year is this? You're still writing a traditional diary?.