"A companion from Ban Ard?" Allen asked in surprise.
"Yes. You might even know him." The owl paused before continuing:
"He is Vilgefortz of Roggeveen…"
"A Source…"
Vilgefortz… So many things had happened one after another that Allen had almost forgotten this name—the sorcerer who, in the original tale, stirred up storms and upheavals in the world.
When was the last time he had seen Vilgefortz?
It must have been in the Passolon Forest, when he had let the Wild Hunt clash against the sorcerers of Ban Ard like clams and snipe fighting each other…
So, what did he want now?
Allen furrowed his brows. He smelled the stench of conspiracy.
"Looks like you don't know him." The owl preened the feathers ruffled by the wind, apparently mistaking Allen's expression for ignorance. She gave a short introduction: "Vilgefortz of Roggeveen, born from the druid circle in Kovir, quite famous in the sorcerer's world."
"Extremely talented, strikingly handsome, well-mannered…"
"But of course…"
"What truly makes him famous is his nature as a Source."
"You witchers may not understand what a Source-born mage is. It's complicated to explain, so just know this one thing—"
The owl tilted her head and locked eyes with him: "To most of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers, he is considered the next Hen Gedymdeith…"
Allen didn't bother correcting Philippa's assessment. Instead, he asked evenly: "What do you mean by companion of Ban Ard?"
"Companion means companion," the owl said with a redundant answer.
"All of our efforts to rescue Hen Gedymdeith in Ban Ard will be arranged by him."
"Arranged by him?" Allen blinked. "What do you mean?"
"From discovering Hen Gedymdeith's location, probing their wards and defenses, planning both the rescue and the escape routes… Finally, he'll act as an insider to smuggle us into Ban Ard, disguise us, and then cover our retreat after it's all done."
Philippa hadn't even finished when Allen felt his scalp prickle.
All by him…? That's really all by him!
This was no different from walking into Ban Ard only to become Vilgefortz's puppet, dancing on his strings. Life and death in someone else's hands.
The very thought of it made Allen shiver.
Truth be told, he and Vilgefortz had some enmity, but not deep.
First, Vilgefortz had only acted under orders—he held no hatred nor prejudice against Allen, Vesemir, or the School of the Wolf.
That was clear even in the original tale.
Before the coup at Thanedd, he had brought Lydia to invite Geralt to admire Aretuza's artwork, personally guiding him through the history of sorcerers. Later, when the coup broke out, Vilgefortz subdued Geralt in two blows, breaking his legs—yet he didn't kill him.
Some would argue it was because of Nilfgaard's Emperor, his designs on Ciri, and the opinions of Yennefer and the other sorceresses.
But in truth, Vilgefortz's aim was to draw the Elder Blood out of Ciri.
That goal alone would have meant Ciri's death. Add to it the coup at Thanedd, and he was destined to be the enemy of all three sides anyway.
Therefore—
Whether because of their similar pasts (both had mage parents and were abandoned), or because of a personal respect formed in their dealings, Vilgefortz hadn't spared Geralt merely for profit.
He still carried a sorcerer's pride, but he valued—or perhaps even admired—Geralt. Admired a witcher.
That was rare among mages, especially male ones.
Second, the seven young witchers who were bound by the shape-sealing curse had ultimately survived unharmed.
So yes, there was some bad blood between them, but it was the kind that could be reconciled.
With Vilgefortz's talent, influence, and power, Allen should have wanted to draw him in.
Yes.
If it were anyone else, Allen might have done just that. But not Vilgefortz.
Unlike the School of the Griffin, Vilgefortz was the worst possible ally—an extreme egotist, ready to betray allies at any moment if it served his interests.
That was exactly what he did in the original tale…
He betrayed the Brotherhood of Sorcerers from within, destroying a thousand-year-old order.
He pledged himself to Nilfgaard's Emperor Emhyr, but all the while schemed after his daughter's Elder Blood.
Even Lydia van Bredevoort, who adored him with all her heart and served him for over a century—he discarded her without hesitation.
How foolish would someone have to be to reconcile with such a man and call him a friend?
But this was not something he could tell Philippa or Tissaia de Vries. They weren't Vera. They likely wouldn't believe him.
Because before the Thanedd coup, Vilgefortz's reputation in the magical world was spotless.
At the Battle of Sodden Hill, he commanded twenty-one sorcerers from the Northern Kingdoms to repel Nilfgaard's invasion.
It was also Vilgefortz who spearheaded the truce between North and South.
He was like a certain young general in his prime—idealistic, glorious, admired.
Of course, by now his prestige had waned.
But without hard evidence, who would Philippa or Tissaia trust more?
A sorcerer who had been active for decades, or a witcher?
That wasn't even a question.
So Allen didn't challenge it directly. After a moment's thought, he asked calmly: "Since Vilgefortz is at Ban Ard, he must be one of them. Why would he agree to such a dangerous plan?"
"Because he only joined Ban Ard recently, and he wasn't originally from there." The owl continued grooming her feathers.
"Half a year ago, he was still busy excavating ancient elven tombs. It wasn't until after the king's death on the equinox—when Ban Ard lost many of its talents—that he came at Hen Gedymdeith's invitation."
"So he's doing this to repay Hen Gedymdeith?" Allen asked.
"Of course not." The owl gave a sharp little laugh, glancing at him sideways.
And from that fuzzy little face, Allen could actually read the expression: 'You're too naïve!'
"Hen Gedymdeith only offered him normal treatment," the owl went on.
"But Sunny has always been narrow-minded. Rumor has it Vilgefortz is constantly ostracized at Ban Ard.
"As for Lydia van Bredevoort, she's an excellent graduate of Aretuza. So the Arch-mistress made contact, struck a bargain, and the two sides hit it off."
Allen blinked in surprise at the owl.
"I thought you'd just make up some excuse like 'Vilgefortz is righteous at heart' to fob me off…"
The owl froze mid-preen, then suddenly sighed—her gaze full of grievance and melancholy.
"For half a month, we've shared a chamber. Countless times, skin to skin… And in the end, in your heart, this is what I am, Allen?"
Allen cast her a speechless glance.
One in the bed, one on the rafters—did that count as sharing a chamber?
Letting the owl perch on his shoulder, arm, or fingers—did that count as skin to skin?
"And besides…" The owl's eyes suddenly gleamed with meaning.
"Tell me—who has really been fobbing off whom all this time?"
Allen fell silent.
Philippa Eilhart clearly only asked in passing, never intending to pry anything out of him. Soon enough, she returned to the main topic: "Of course, in this matter, we are undoubtedly on the side of justice. That much is beyond question."
With that said—
Allen didn't immediately ask anything. As he walked toward the tower, he lowered his head, lost in thought about the implications of Vilgefortz's involvement.
Only when he reached the tower's entrance did he finally ask, "Why does he want to meet me?"
"That is indeed rather strange…" Philippa's tone suggested she had been waiting for this question.
"What's strange?"
The owl spread its wings and landed on Allen's raised index finger, its large amber eyes staring into him.
"Vilgefortz could have—no, he should have concealed his name until after the mission to rescue Hen Gedymdeith had either succeeded or failed…
"At the very least, he should have hidden his identity until we reached Ban Ard.
"But instead, he revealed his name without the slightest caution, and after agreeing to join the operation, he even requested to personally meet the participants."
"Allen, are you certain you don't know him?"
Allen did not answer. Instead, he countered, "So you exposed my identity?"
"Of course not," the owl shook its small head, "aside from me and the Arch-mistress, no one else knows who you are. Fewer than five people in total are aware of the plan."
"Then why do you think I know him?" Allen pushed open the tower's wooden door without expression. "Couldn't this simply be the caution one would expect from Vilgefortz before such a crucial mission?"
"That possibility is certainly greater," the owl's amber eyes rolled in their sockets, "but I think he knows you. He came for you."
"You could call it a sorceress's intuition."
Of course, that was a lie.
Although Tissaia de Vries had not told Vilgefortz about Allen's identity, she had mentioned Philippa Eilhart by name, along with the fact that another would be involved.
Philippa and Vilgefortz were not personally acquainted, but she did know Lydia van Bredevoort—they were of the same generation.
And Philippa herself was renowned within the Brotherhood of Sorcerers for her mastery of polymorphy and illusions, no less famous than Vilgefortz.
In Vilgefortz's eyes, Philippa held no great secrets worth risking his life to reveal himself at this moment.
Which meant he was after the second participant.
Even though Tissaia had concealed Allen's identity, the very nature of Ban Ard as a sorcerers' academy, coupled with Hen Gedymdeith's importance, naturally made sorcerers wary of their own kind.
Any clever mind could deduce that the person best suited to rescue Hen Gedymdeith would certainly not be a sorcerer.
What's more, since Tissaia had already revealed Philippa, if the other were a sorcerer as well, she would have had no reason to hide it.
And aside from sorcerers, there were few professions suited to carry out a mission of such magnitude.
In fact, one could say there was only one left—Witchers.
What kind of witcher could make the most gifted young mage of the Northern Continent risk his life just to see him once?
The owl quietly observed the witcher before her, waiting for his reply.
"I do know Vilgefortz. But the last time we met, it wasn't pleasant."
"That was two or three months ago, in a small town outside Wengberg…"
Allen had no reason to hide anything, so he calmly recounted the incident of being ambushed by Vilgefortz a few months prior. Philippa Eilhart listened in stunned silence.
"You're telling me that you and Vesemir defeated the Source, Vilgefortz?" Her voice carried disbelief.
Ronnie Dickinson dying in a lab to a witcher's sneak attack was one thing — strange, but understandable.
But Vilgefortz? He'd spent years in tombs, roaming across the entire Northern Continent.
His vigilance and combat ability were unquestionable.
"Not exactly a direct defeat," Allen shook his head. "I just seized an opening when he tried to ambush me. He didn't get the chance to release any powerful spells…"
Hearing this, Philippa's eyes grew peculiar.
Alzur's Thunder isn't powerful enough?
At that moment, once again, her perception of the young witcher before her shifted completely.
"So during these past two weeks of working together, you've been deliberately hiding your strength… humoring me?" Philippa couldn't help but ask.
Allen gave her a strange look. "What kind of strength is needed to kill a few Drowners and Alghouls?"
Well… that was true… Philippa faltered, coughed lightly, and awkwardly returned to the main topic.
"So in other words, you don't actually have any deep enmity with Vilgefortz."
"But regardless of your past interactions, you needn't worry about him sabotaging this mission."
"Arch-mistress has already signed the strictest contract with him."
She paused, then added, "Stricter than the one Evans signed at Melitele's Temple."
"Also, this time, we choose the meeting place."
"So…"
"When do you plan to see him?"
She didn't ask whether he agreed — only when he would meet. It was a subtle trick, perhaps also reflecting Tissaia de Vries' stance.
Allen gave her a long, deep look, then lowered his head in thought.
"One week from now. As for the place…" He paused, gazing at the clouds curling around the peaks of the Blue Mountains, and said softly:
"In Kaer Village, beneath Kaer Morhen."
——
Vilgefortz's sudden invitation was nothing more than a passing episode in Allen's busy life, quickly forgotten.
What the future would bring — no one, not even Allen who "knew the future," could say. For the witcher's world had already been altered beyond recognition by his very existence.
Now.
The priority was Sol's second mutation.
Two days later, in the underground research chamber of Kaer Morhen.
Other than during the annual Trial of the Grasses for wolf-school witcher apprentices, never before had so many gathered inside the witchers' vast laboratory.
A crowd of people surrounded the machine used for the second mutation — the "Iron Maiden." Through the narrow opening in its abdomen, one could faintly see the steady rise and fall of a human chest.
"Allen."
Jerome Moreau gripped the lever beside the Iron Maiden, glanced at the expectant faces of witchers and sorceresses all around, drew in a deep breath, and asked: "Shall we begin now?"
....
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