"His condition is stable now."
Vera, who had been standing before the Iron Maiden with her eyes closed, sensing carefully, finally opened them and gave a small nod.
Everyone exhaled in relief at the same time.
"Hsss—"
From every vent of the Iron Maiden, faint wisps of dark red gas seeped out.
The rate of seepage was far slower than it had been during the experiment with the Drowner.
After all, the Drowner had only suffered grave damage to its soul while its body remained intact. But Sol's physical state had already deteriorated to the extreme, and naturally, things couldn't be handled as crudely or recklessly as before.
Though a secondary mutation, once initiated, could not be stopped, slowing the process at least made it easier to handle unforeseen complications. Thus, the entirety of Sol's secondary mutation was expected to last through the afternoon.
The laboratory fell into silence.
No matter how deep their bond with Sol ran, worry alone couldn't carry them blankly through such a long stretch of time.
So, as Sol's condition stabilized, it was inevitable that minds began to wander — recalling the past, fretting over the future, and weighing the road ahead…
And all these thoughts eventually circled back to the same point.
Since those involved were all present, pretending otherwise seemed pointless…
So, everyone suddenly appeared very "busy."
Jerome Moreau, being an outsider, had not lifted his head even once since Sol had entered the Iron Maiden.
Deep shadows cloaked his face, concealing his expression.
His hands moved soundlessly over pipes — touching one here, tapping another there — as though inspecting the seals.
But if anything could go wrong with the Iron Maiden, it wouldn't be the pipes. They were newly made, and the secondary mutation process didn't even demand much in terms of airtightness.
Vesemir, Aristo, and Danthe, with no tasks to occupy their hands, instead busied their eyes and mouths.
The three witcher masters exchanged no fewer than one hundred and eighty glances in a minute, mouths subtly shaping words — managing to communicate seamlessly without a single sound.
Danthe blinked at Vesemir and Aristo, bewildered: "Did you hear what the Chief just said? What did he mean when he called Allen his child — that Allen is the offspring of Henrietta and the Triennes family?"
A lingering shock clouded Vesemir's face: "Henrietta is of the Chief's family — the ruling house of Toussaint. The Triennes are Lady Vera's…"
"Spare me the trivia!" Danthe glared, cutting him off.
"I'm asking — how could Allen possibly be the child of the Chief and Vera?"
"Since when can a witcher and a sorceress even have a child?!"
"And leave Sol aside for the moment — Allen's only fourteen now. Back then, Vera was already over two hundred, wasn't she? Even without the erosion of magic, she would definitely, absolutely, impossibly…"
Vesemir's expression grew even more stricken. He darted a cautious glance toward Vera, then immediately shuffled a step away from Danthe, wearing a look of sheer terror — as though silently pleading, "Don't drag me down with you if blood gets spilled."
"Are you out of your mind?! Sorceresses can read thoughts. Do you want to end up like Letho?!"
Danthe instinctively flicked his eyes toward Vera — then promptly clamped his mouth shut.
It was only then that Aristo seemed to snap fully back to his senses. He turned to Vesemir, his expression uncertain: "So… you didn't know either?"
Allen didn't know, but Vesemir silently shook his head.
"I only learned of this today as well…"
He glanced at Allen, who was staring fixedly at the "Iron Maiden," and sighed.
"No wonder Vela treats Allen even better than the Chief, almost like her own blood. Turns out he really is."
Aristo looked dazed, following Vesemir's gaze toward Allen, but said nothing.
"Aristo," Danthe exchanged a glance with Vesemir and signaled with his eyes, "you're not seriously thinking about becoming our Chief, are you?"
Aristo's thick brows shot up, his face twisted in anger as if insulted.
"I have never once thought of that!"
Vesemir frowned in confusion.
"Then why… did you agree just now? When the Chief came to me a few days ago, I immediately said yes."
"So did I," Danthe nodded in agreement.
Aristo cast a glance at the "Iron Maiden."
"The School of the Wolf is different from other organizations on the Northern Continent. Its structure is loose—just a place where witchers gather to keep warm together."
"Rather than a hierarchal sorcerer's brotherhood, it's more like an ordinary village household."
"Each 'morning,' family members go their separate ways—some to farm, some to trade, some to cook—each contributing in their own way to keep the household alive. And when 'evening' comes, they return to chat and rest."
"We witcher masters may hold higher positions, but in truth, we give far more than we ever receive."
"To sustain this family, we hand over most, if not all, of the bounties we earn after a year of battle—without asking for anything in return."
"Tell me—what sorcerer would give so selflessly to his brotherhood?"
"What merchant would exhaust himself for his guild?"
"What king or noble would refuse taxes, yet pour everything he has into his people?"
Without waiting for their replies, Aristo shook his head firmly.
"None!"
"The School of the Wolf is a family. What binds us is emotion. We are brothers without blood ties."
"And in a family, when the grandfather or father passes away—can anyone truly replace them?"
Vesemir and Danthe exchanged a look and shook their heads.
Aristo went on, "Before the Chief's accident, perhaps someone might have thought to take his place. But it could never be me."
"Though I'm younger than him, not by much. And the hidden injuries I've carried over the years are far worse than his."
"I always thought Death would knock on my door Chief, on some harsh winter's night."
Vesemir and Danthe exchanged another look.
"Then why…"
Aristo glanced at Allen and sighed: "What I said earlier, I meant it."
"You all know the current state of the School of the Wolf. Calling it precarious and hanging by a thread would be no exaggeration."
"Even so, it's only thanks to Allen that it's lasted this long."
"Ordinary witchers might not realize this, but how could we possibly not know?"
"The School of the Wolf is his burden."
"To be honest, I don't even understand why he holds such deep feelings for the school, why he's willing to give so much for it."
"You know what the apprentices are like after surviving the Trial of Choice, the Trial of the Grasses, and the Trial of the Mountain. Disgust is the mildest reaction. Many carry hatred in their hearts, and only over time, after enduring the world's rejection, do they gradually come to terms and integrate."
"The original purpose of the Path wasn't just to teach them how to survive on this continent."
"But Allen isn't like that. Ever since the Trial of the Grasses, he's shown a natural, profound attachment to the school."
Vesemir looked thoughtful.
"Could it be because of the Chief and Lady Vera?" Danthe asked cautiously.
It was Vesemir, not Aristo, who shook his head: "I don't know how Allen learned the truth of his origins, but most likely, it was only recently."
"Why do you say that?" Danthe's eyes were curious.
"Perhaps you didn't notice," Vesemir said, turning his gaze toward Allen. "When he Chief returned, Allen and Vera were as close as a true mother and son. But after meeting the Chief the very next day, he suddenly grew distant, as if a barrier had formed between them. That distance has never faded since."
"At Chief, I thought it was because of Sol's grave injuries, that neither of them had the heart for anything else."
"But now, it seems Allen didn't learn of his lineage much earlier than we did."
When his words fell, the three witcher masters lapsed into silence.
Witchers were no longer what they had been in the days of the Order, when Alzur and Cosimo had deliberately concealed the truth and many youths had volunteered for the trials.
Now—
People still respected them, respected true witchers, but unless driven by dire circumstance or poverty, no one would willingly take the trial. No sane parent would ever choose to let their child become a witcher.
After a long silence, Danthe could no longer hold back: "And still Allen spends so much of his strength trying to save Sol… and the Chief…"
"If it were me, I'd only hate that I couldn't kill him with my own hands!"
Vesemir said nothing. He knew Danthe had been sold to the School of the Wolf by his own father.
Aristo's words—about witchers who loathed the school after the trials, and only over time reconciled with it—described Danthe perfectly, and truthfully, most of the Wolf witchers as well.
Even Aristo, the one who respected the Chief the most, didn't argue. He only fell silent, watching the boy carefully studying the Iron Maiden.
He too didn't know why the Chief had sent his own child to Kaer Morhen.
Even though, due to the passage of time, he could not inherit the title of Grand Duke of Toussaint, with him and Vera around, even if Allen were completely useless, he could still live more comfortably than a king.
'Allen has always been a sensible child"' Vesemir thought with deep emotion. "He was different from every other apprentice. It was as if he never had a rebellious phase. After the Trial of the Grasses, he suddenly grew up all at once."
"The Wolf School is his burden," Aristo said again, staring without blinking. "When Vesemir became a witcher, he only took on five contracts a year. With the bounty, he went to brothels and taverns, and only when the money ran out would he look for more contracts."
Vesemir's face turned awkward, and he tried to defend himself: "Danthe was like that too."
"All witchers were like that," Danthe shrugged, not denying it.
Aristo shook his head: "But Allen wasn't like that. Before he even became Chief, he no longer had time of his own. His entire being was devoted to trying to save the School…"
"But even so, if one day the School truly became unsalvageable, he still had other chances. He could still have another, easier life."
"But once he took that seat…"
"Enemies, comrades, strangers, even he himself—none of them would ever let him go…"
He turned his head toward Vesemir and Danthe: "Who could be so ruthless as to do that?"
Danthe and Vesemir fell silent.
"I didn't think that much at the time," Vesemir said with a bitter smile.
"I didn't think of it either. I just felt he was fully qualified," Danthe took a deep breath, his gaze complex as he looked toward the "Iron Maiden." "But the Chief must have thought of it, and the Chief was ruthless enough to make that choice…"
Aristo said: "He was the strongest witcher in the world, and the most selfless Grandmaster of the School, but…"
He paused.
"He wasn't a good father."
"So you don't intend to keep your promise?" Danthe asked.
Aristo was silent for a moment, then shook his head: "Allen isn't my child. As I am now, I only answer to the current Chief. As for the future Chief…"
"At worst, I'll pave the way for him, and die before he does…"
Danthe and Vesemir said nothing.
None of them realized—or perhaps deliberately ignored—that Allen's seat as Chief was built upon Sol's death.
After all, a case that had never been cured before—how could it possibly be saved by a half-trained novice who had only been involved for less than half a month?
Although they never wanted to admit it out loud, deep down they had already prepared themselves.
But as time passed, Sol's condition remained remarkably stable. Allen, Vera, and Ida Emean stayed close beside the Iron Maiden, their expressions growing increasingly tense, yet there was no unusual movement at all.
This faintly gave rise to hope in their hearts.
Could Sol—the Chief—really survive?
"Hiss—"
The dark red gas was completely expelled, and the liquid in the crystal containers connected by several iron pipes was fully drained.
"Next phase!" Allen pulled the wrench in his right hand all the way down.
Jerome Moreau froze for a moment, his eyes revealing undisguised surprise as he looked up at Allen.
He didn't even know that a secondary mutation had phases. This was far too different from Tomas Moreau's experimental process.
Of course, though he was nominally the assistant, in the morning he had only helped fetch materials and clean containers. When it came to the process of a secondary mutation, Allen was already far more familiar with it than him.
But this was completely different from the morning experiment with the Drowners!
The change in procedure was so drastic it was practically two entirely different secondary mutations.
Yet, with the arrow already on the bowstring, Jerome Moreau could only restrain his expression at Allen's look and close several valves behind the Iron Maiden.
Allen explained: "The first phase uses the mutagen proteins of the White Widow combined with materials like white bryony and barbel stalk to forcibly heal Sol's body, while inducing a minor-intensity mutation to meet the threshold required for a secondary mutation."
"It went smoothly!"
"But what comes next is the most dangerous part of the secondary mutation…"
At those words, everyone's hearts clenched.
"What do we need to do?" Vera interrupted directly.
Allen didn't mind, and instructed: "If everything proceeds normally, then it's fine. But if I say 'detach,' you must immediately teleport Sol out!"
"I'll do it," said Ida Emean.
Vera nodded to Allen. "She can. But what does detach mean—can the secondary mutation be stopped? If it fails, can it be tried again?"
"Secondary mutation cannot be stopped," Allen shook his head. After a pause, he added, "But if an accident happens, detaching in time may at least let him live a little longer."
No sooner had his words fallen than—
"Hiss—"
The iron pipes trembled as they drew in the solvent. Through runic pressurization, it converted into surging dark-green vapor that gushed out ten times faster than before.
And in the very instant the green gas erupted—
"ROAR!"
A dragon's furious roar suddenly came from within the Iron Maiden.
No—
It wasn't sound, but a spiritual shock.
In a flash, an overwhelming pressure burst forth, making the entire castle tremble and shake.
In that moment of trance, a massive red dragon, comparable to the main fortress of Kaer Morhen, suddenly appeared, glaring at them with its ferocious scarlet vertical pupils.
In its enraged and unwilling bellow, blazing red light flared in its throat, and flames ignited between each metallic-sheened scale.
It was gathering energy, ready to incinerate them all with its burning breath.
But the next second—
"ROAR!"
Another furious roar echoed from behind.
Before they could even turn their heads, a giant swung a fist the size of a mountain and smashed it down on the dragon's skull.
The dragon howled in pain, its breath collapsing into scattered sparks.
"Chief?!!"
That giant had Sol's face.
Allen froze for just a moment as the giant strode past him, slamming its foot down like a mountain collapsing and sending the red dragon sprawling. The giant seized the dragon by the throat, fists raining down like a storm.
"Roar——!"
Right before Allen's eyes, the two colossal beasts clashed in the most primal, savage, and blood-soaked battle imaginable.
The dragon did not go down without resistance—it tore chunks of flesh from the giant, leaving gaping wounds down to the bone.
But the giant only kept growing larger, its strength swelling along with its body, until it completely gained the upper hand.
When the giant finally towered over the red dragon—
"Roar!"
Amid the dragon's agonized scream, the giant wrenched up one of its wings, opened its bloody maw, and bit down savagely on the dragon's neck.
Dragon's blood sprayed wildly.
Then, in the next blur of consciousness, the brutal, primal battle vanished in an instant.
Before him now was the "Iron Maiden," spewing thick streams of dark-green vapor.
He was back in Kaer Morhen, in the underground laboratory of the witcher stronghold.
"This… this… this should be a good sign, right?" Danthe's bewildered voice suddenly broke the silence of the lab.
Everyone's eyes turned toward Allen's face.
"Pro… probably?" Allen blinked, his voice uncertain.
But no sooner had the words left him—
The oppressive dragon's aura, which had briefly disappeared, suddenly surged back—yet before anyone could react, it quickly weakened again.
At the same time, another aura began to rise, gentler yet equally overwhelming.
As the dragon's aura faded entirely, the new aura reached its peak.
"Huuu~"
With a soft hiss, streams of green vapor sprayed from the hollow front of the Iron Maiden.
Clack.
A faint click—its locks released. The Iron Maiden slowly opened its arms.
From within the hazy, dark-green mist, a towering, broad-shouldered figure slid out of its embrace.
The world's second witcher to undergo a second mutation, the Wolf School's grandmaster, Sol—
Had emerged!
...
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