"Don't come near me!"
A sharp shout rang out. Everyone who had been about to step forward to help froze in place, their movements halting instinctively.
Like a figure dragged up from a pool of blood, their features unrecognizable, a humanoid form sank to its knees amidst a hazy, dark-green mist.
In that instant—
"Boom!"
With an earth-shattering roar, the marble floor beneath them rippled like water struck by a boulder, waves spreading outward.
The ground nearest the "Iron Maiden" shattered into fragments, revealing a deep pit beneath.
A shockwave twisted the air, toppling the heavy Iron Maiden with a thunderous crash. Its pipes whipped about before snapping apart, and the crystal container was blown away, shattering against the wall in a spray of shards…
Dust and smoke surged as Kaer Morhen itself trembled.
In the blink of an eye, the Witcher laboratory was left in ruins, as if a great battle had just swept through.
Fortunately, everyone present was either a Witcher master or a top-tier sorceress.
Sensing danger, they had all instinctively raised protective wards.
Even so, though none were gravely hurt, being caught off guard left them in disarray and battered.
Most of all, Jerome Moreau of the Griffin School, who had been standing on the far side of the Iron Maiden opposite Allen.
He was the closest, with the least time to react, and so bore the brunt of the shockwave.
He had only managed to raise a Quen sign before being hurled back like one of the flying bottles and jars, smashing against the wall.
Allen immediately noticed the Griffin School's version of the Quen Sign.
It should have been Quen—
But unlike the wolf school's skin-tight ward or a sorceress's shell-like barrier, this Quen floated about two fists away from the armor, glowing not gold but the deep blue of the sea. When struck by the shockwave, it dented inward, then shifted form upon impact with the wall, dispersing the force for its caster.
No—this wasn't a matter of failing to react. Jerome Moreau had moved naturally, never resisting the impact, letting it carry him, and then landed as lightly and elegantly as a feather.
Vesemir, Danthe, and Aristo hadn't even taken a step back.
Allen didn't believe Jerome Moreau's response was due to still recovering from years of imprisonment. It seemed far more like a distinctive Griffin School combat habit.
Interesting, Allen thought to himself as he caught the scene.
As for himself, Allen had been the best-protected of all.
Aside from his own Quen shield, he was wrapped within magical wards from both Vera and Ida Emean — two top-tier sorceresses. He emerged without a single scratch.
Of course, at that moment the focus of everyone's attention was neither Jerome Moreau's unique Griffin School technique nor the heavily shielded Allen.
It was the figure standing at the center of the smoke and dust.
"Chief… Sol?" Several voices called out with concern.
But since Sol had given them warning beforehand, no one made any rash moves.
"I… am fine." The reply rang out like clashing steel, a sound similar to Sol's usual voice yet strikingly different.
Sol seemed to notice the change too, pausing before adding: "I've just not grown accustomed to my body… or this power. I need… I need some time…"
Not accustomed to his own body and power?!!
Vesemir, Danthe, and Aristo exchanged shocked glances.
What kind of transformation could leave even the world's mightiest Witcher — one who had lived two or three centuries — struggling to adjust to his own body and strength?
The smoke slowly began to clear, though Sol's figure still remained indistinct.
Vera, impatient, waved her hand, summoning a gust of wind to scatter the dust — the laboratory was ruined anyway, there was nothing left intact to worry about.
"Wait!" Sol's voice rang out, as though trying to stop her.
But it was already too late.
Clang—
No one knew which bottle or jar had been blown down by the wind, shattering against the floor.
At that moment, Sol revealed his true form.
In an instant—
The scattered murmurs ceased, and silence swallowed the laboratory.
A creature covered from head to face in dark red, fine scales knelt half-buried in a half-meter-deep stone pit, one hand pressed to the ground, the other covering his face.
The room stayed silent for a long while.
Step… step… step…
Vera waved away the magic barrier and walked toward the pit, step by step.
"Don't come near me," Sol raised his hand to stop her, "I still can't fully con—"
Before he could finish, Vera was already kneeling in the crushed stone dust, wrapping him tightly in her arms.
Sol's whole body went rigid. His arms lifted awkwardly, not daring to touch the soft figure pressed against him.
Drip… drip…
Scalding liquid fell in heavy drops, wetting the powdered stone beneath, clumping the grains together.
"I'm fine now," feeling something shift inside him, Sol relaxed a little, his hands hovering uncertainly as he returned the embrace. "I'm already back…"
Vera made no reply. She only held him tighter.
Sol sighed helplessly, letting her cling to him, and glanced around.
All around, people politely shifted their gazes away—though who knew what they were really thinking.
There was Jerome Moreau…
Ida Emean, wide-eyed and intrigued, looking as though she would conjure a far-seeing lens at any moment to record the scene. Vesemir, Danthe, and Aristo, all wearing bright, mischievous smiles as if enjoying the spectacle.
And then—
Allen, staring at the scene with a blank expression.
When their eyes met, Allen quickly turned his gaze aside, unnaturally stiff.
"Vera… Ida Emean and Vesemir, the others are all watching…" Sol whispered into Vera's ear.
She gave no response, as though she hadn't heard.
Sol glanced again at Allen, pretending to look at the ground while watching from the corner of his eye, and whispered helplessly: "And… the child is watching too…"
Vera's body trembled and stiffened.
Hum—
No snap of fingers, yet every school emblem in the room trembled all at once.
Only then did Vera slowly release him, rising to her feet, her face flawless and expressionless, makeup still perfect.
One could not tell that only moments ago, burning tears had fallen across that face.
Just then—
Danthe broke the awkward silence: "Chief, these scales on your body…"
"It doesn't matter, as long as he's alive," Aristo cut him off. "To survive at all is already a gift of fate."
"It's thanks to Allen's second mutation!" Vesemir corrected in displeasure. "Not destiny!"
Hearing this, Aristo quickly apologized to Allen, stroking his beard as he changed his words: "Ah! My apologies, my apologies—it's Allen's achievement, Allen's achievement. The entire Wolf School should be grateful to—"
But as he praised, his voice gradually faded away.
The atmosphere in the research chamber suddenly turned awkward. Everyone recalled what Sol had said before Allen's second mutation…
Regardless of what was said about personal ties, Allen was still Sol and Vera's blood son. Aristo's behavior now was like that of an outsider, thanking someone for saving his own biological father.
Who exactly was he thanking?
Was it even their place, as outsiders, to express gratitude?
And so the mood turned somewhat tense again…
Vera glanced at Allen, who was lowering his head, then, completely abandoning her tender demeanor from moments ago, shot Sol a fierce glare.
"Ahem~" Sol cleared his throat twice and shifted the topic. "These scales aren't permanent. I feel like I can control them. Give me a moment…"
With that, Sol carefully folded his legs beneath him. Though his bare heel accidentally scraped across the hard granite floor and carved a shallow groove, it was far less destructive than before. He successfully sat cross-legged and closed his eyes in meditation.
Under everyone's watchful gaze—one minute, two minutes, three minutes… even after half an hour, nothing had changed.
The witcher masters exchanged glances, then all turned their eyes to Allen.
After all—
The entire process of the second mutation had been designed by him. The mutagenic potions were all prepared by him. No one present could claim a deeper understanding of the procedure than Allen himself.
Yet Allen could only shake his head.
The modifications he made for Sol's second mutation were ultimately based on Tomas Moreau's original framework, using advanced genetic mutation theory to combine the mutagenic traits of various monsters and predict their possible interactions.
It was like mastering quantum mechanics while also inheriting a successful atomic bomb design—now aiming to create a bomb with greater yield and higher material efficiency.
Even if one didn't fully understand the engineering design, or the choice of casing and core materials, it wasn't a huge problem. With such a foundation, essential experiments could still be carried out in a short time.
Because there was no need for progress in every single field—just an edge in one critical area was enough. It wasn't like the leap from atomic bomb to hydrogen bomb, a complete qualitative change.
But without the original atomic bomb's successful blueprint, no matter how well one understood quantum mechanics, it would be impossible to leap from zero to one—because many disciplines were involved.
In the same way, the second mutation didn't rely solely on genetic mutation theory. Alchemy and other disciplines were also mixed in, though genetics played the dominant role while the others contributed less.
That was why Allen could leverage his strength so effectively, tailoring a mutation for Sol based on Tomas Moreau's foundation.
But if even Tomas Moreau himself—the founder of the research—had, in his studies, drifted off in an entirely opposite direction and achieved something unexpected… how could Allen possibly predict every single change after Sol's mutation?
In truth…
[Name: Pale Widow Mutation Formula]
[Type: Scholarly Knowledge]
[Requirement: Genetic Mutation Science LV8 (Current LV7), Alchemy LV5 (Current LV4)]
[Function: A complete formula and breeding method to mutate a Giant Centipede into a Pale Widow.]
-----------------------------------
In the second mutation, the most important formula for the Pale Widow's mutation, Allen was still not qualified to learn.
But that didn't stop him from directly using Tomas Moreau's results—the key ingredient for the second mutation, the mutated giant centipede albumen.
Therefore—
As long as the second mutation could heal Sol, that was enough. Allen couldn't think of anything else in such a short time, nor was it possible to consider every aspect so thoroughly.
However, moving forward…
Based on Sol's post-mutation data, when it came to Vesemir, Danthe, and Aresto, especially his own second mutation, Allen could indeed think more carefully.
Don't be fooled—though in the game Geralt would advance rapidly after the second mutation, completely changing his playstyle…
In reality, if Allen designed it, he could fully tailor it to Geralt's needs and make him even stronger.
Back in the witchers' laboratory—
As the next half hour ended and everyone began to consider how to comfort Sol into accepting his condition, a sudden change occurred.
The strange oppressive aura that had grown alongside the fading Dragon's Might during the mutation suddenly pulsed, causing everyone to snap to attention.
Then that aura gradually weakened. At the center of Sol's brow, the dark red dragon scale trembled—it shifted from metallic texture to gelatinous, then from three-dimensional to flat, turning into a dark red scale-shaped tattoo.
Ripples spread outward from the brow like a stone thrown into a pond. Layer upon layer of scales trembled, transforming into tattooed scales.
When the scales on Sol's bare feet had all transformed, the tattoos quickly faded, blending with skin as pale and tender as a newborn's.
When the strange pressure completely vanished, Sol returned to his former appearance—not as he was before the mutation, but as he had looked when Allen had Chief crossed over: awe-inspiring, dignified.
No—
Not completely the same.
Sol opened his eyes. His once rare gray beast pupils had turned into scarlet vertical pupils, radiating a majesty that could not be gazed upon directly, like a true dragon in human form.
Perhaps because this form was more humanlike, it was even more soul-stirring than before.
And that faint oppressive aura—compared to Sol's peak, it was an entirely different level of strength.
The only flaw was his lost hair from the mutation, which took a little away from his aura of majesty.
"He… he really came back?!!"
Danthe's mouth fell open in shock.
Just looking at the Chief made his scalp tingle. His instincts screamed warnings, and he had to force himself not to draw his longsword in defense.
The second mutation… it seemed… it not only healed all of his injuries, but had also pushed the strongest witcher in the world up another tier.
At that moment—
Danthe suddenly thought of something. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, then he turned to Vesemir, stammering: "Ve… Vesemir… the second mutation… does it mean every witcher could… could… could also…"
He didn't finish. But Vesemir and Aresto knew exactly what he meant. Their eyes burned as they looked toward Allen, the one who had made this miracle possible.
If Jerome Moreau—a so-called "novice" master who hadn't even forged a proper grandmaster armor—could do it, and so could the dying Grandmaster of the Wolf School, then why couldn't they?
The thought made them shiver.
Since the second mutation's success rate seemed to be one hundred percent, it could be applied to the entire Wolf School.
If it were truly spread to all…
The three Wolf School witcher masters swallowed again, their throats dry, glancing at one another.
They seemed to see—the hope of the Wolf School's revival.
..........
📢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?.