At this moment, Allen did not know that the witcher masters of the Wolf School had already begun thinking so far ahead about the future.
But he too was filled with countless thoughts because of Sol's transformation.
In his previous life's The Witcher 3, the second mutation added another gameplay element called "Mutation," essentially a skill tree.
Heightened Senses, Toxic Blood, Addict, Cold-Blooded, Deadly Strikes, Bloodbath…
Each Mutation field of ability was the core of a particular playstyle: the Manticore alchemy build, the Cat School alchemy build, the toxic explosion self-detonation build, the bloodlust sign build…
He remembered back then, when the Blood and Wine DLC had just released and ability fields couldn't yet be reset, he had made multiple save files just to try out the builds created by the veterans.
His favorite was still the hybrid sword-and-sign "Cold-Blooded Abandoned Wolf" build.
Infinite Whirl combined with infinite stamina, enhanced Yrden sign damage, followed by back-to-back Piercing Cold Aard blasts…
Geralt the Spell-Sword King—it was simply too exhilarating.
Sure, the build was a little fragile, but in a game, fun was all that mattered.
Just two or three Aards could instantly kill Hearts of Stone's big boss Olgierd (the demon Gaunter O'Dimm didn't count as a boss, since he was defeated by solving his riddle). The King of the Wild Hunt in the main story? Even less of a problem. That feeling…
Tsk, tsk…
Of course, every build, once properly constructed, could become monstrously powerful.
Geralt before the Blood and Wine DLC, compared to Geralt after—it was like two completely different levels of strength.
If Geralt before the second mutation was the strongest mortal alive, then afterward he could truly be called demi-godlike.
But even then, the game had never shown changes like Sol's.
If this draconic transformation—let's tentatively call it that—could be freely controlled, then it was a wholly beneficial metamorphosis.
Scales like armor would certainly be tougher than a witcher's skin.
And those changes resembling a red dragon's form might even bestow traits such as fire resistance or magic immunity—the unique qualities of a red dragon.
And that was just what Allen could think of, in the short term, from the scales alone.
But what if one looked at Sol's entire being?
This was clearly a transformation derived from draconic genes. After the Trial of the Grasses, it had already placed Sol indisputably at the top, the greatest witcher of the Northern Continent.
Now, after the second mutation suppressed the malignant draconic expression with cyclopean genes—could it really be that there were no further changes, no further enhancements at all?
Impossible!
As Allen pondered, he couldn't help but feel heat rising through his body, his blood boiling with excitement.
He turned his head to glance at Sol.
The scales on Sol's body had already vanished, but his newly opened eyes were closed again, as if he was carefully feeling out the changes in his body.
Since there was no danger, and the strange dragon scales could be freely retracted, the others did not rush to disturb him.
Only Aristo had hurriedly left the laboratory while waiting—likely to handle the commotion that Sol's second mutation had stirred up.
Allen lowered his head in thought for a moment, then walked to Jerome Moreau's side and asked quietly: "Master Jerome, can you transform like that?"
When Allen had first returned from Tomas Moreau's laboratory, he had actually asked Jerome about his feelings after the second mutation, and the physical changes it had brought.
But at that time Jerome's body had only just recovered from severe weakness, his strength completely drained, and he couldn't explain much at all.
And according to his own account—
Back in Tomas Moreau's lab, when the experiment of the second mutation was completed, Tomas found Jerome's transformation to be utterly contrary to his expectations. Disheartened, he didn't run any detailed tests. Instead, he directly bound Jerome with magic and imprisoned him.
Therefore, by the time he returned to Kaer Morhen, Jerome didn't know much more about his own changes than Allen did.
All he knew was that his physical potential had likely increased, surpassing the limits of an ordinary witcher.
Additionally, he could hear the unguarded thoughts of other witchers.
But once people became aware of this, it was easy enough for them to shield those thoughts—it wasn't nearly as domineering as a sorcerer's mind-reading.
Rather than true mind-reading, it was more like a gift meant to help him lead better, enabling smoother communication in battle.
Other than that, there were no signs of ability fields like Cold-Blooded, Euphoria, or Toxic Blood as in the game's Mutations.
He didn't know whether this was due to the difference between reality and fiction, or simply because those powers had not yet been developed.
"I cannot," Jerome admitted, casting a look of envy at Sol. After a pause, he continued, "When my second mutation ended, I only felt much stronger. But I did not have anything close to Grandmaster Sol's grandeur or transformation. However…"
His tone suddenly wavered.
"However what?" Allen pressed curiously.
Jerome Moreau pondered for a few seconds. It wasn't that he didn't want to speak, but rather that he couldn't seem to find the right words to describe it.
After a while, he finally said: "I can't quite explain it. Ever since my body started recovering recently, it feels like my control over it has become… deeper…"
"It's as if my body is a lump of clay, waiting to be shaped. But it's not just about shaping the surface of the body—it's more like… more like…"
"Power form?"
"Power form… where did that word come from? Lady Vera?" Jerome Moreau paused, chewing on the unfamiliar term before nodding thoughtfully. "Yes… that does fit. Very well, in fact…"
"The strength, agility, resilience, magic—every aspect of my combat ability seems to have, because of the second mutation, taken on a tangible form within me. I can direct it toward a certain path of development…"
"It's like…"
He clenched his fist absentmindedly: "I can make this hand—its bones, fascia, and muscles—become tougher, like steel wires woven into a net, able to catch a blade barehanded…"
"Or I could ignore the outer shell entirely, and focus on a witcher's inherent superior regeneration, rapidly recovering from injuries…"
"And then there's swordsmanship… signs… perception…"
"I can alter myself in many different directions, even multiple directions at once."
"But deep down, I feel that once I truly begin, there will be no way back. No chance to redo it."
"Allen…"
Jerome Moreau turned his head toward him, seeking help: "You're the one who understands the second mutation the most. What do you think I should do?"
Allen didn't answer immediately.
All combat abilities taking on a tangible form that could be manipulated—was it really that abstract?
But after thinking it through, Allen realized this was most likely the "mutation" added by the second mutation in the game.
What was the attribute field best suited for the Griffin School?
Wait a minute…
Would Jerome Moreau's unlockable ability fields be the same as in the game?
In the game, all you needed was enough resources to unlock an ability field. But in reality?
What exactly counted as resources?
And how were these ability fields unlocked?
-----------------------------------
Questions came one after another, leaving Allen somewhat bewildered.
Before researching the second mutation, he had never really considered that such problems might arise.
"Allen?"
Jerome Moreau's call brought Allen back to himself. After thinking for a moment, he spoke cautiously: "Since it cannot be changed once it begins, then don't be in a rush to make a decision."
"Master Jerome, are you eager to return to the Griffin School?"
Jerome Moreau shook his head. "I haven't been back for decades. There's nothing major in the Griffin School anyway."
Not necessarily… Allen thought.
The avalanche that nearly destroyed the Griffin School should happen within the next year or two.
The witcher-hunting plan set up by Drakenborg also included the Griffin School.
However…
Whether it was this year or the next, that avalanche—just like the defense of Kaer Morhen that led to the fall of the Wolf School—would only happen after all the witchers returned in midwinter.
The witchers of the Northern Continent were being systematically hunted, but there was no urgency at the moment. With their scattered distribution and poor means of communication, rushing wouldn't change anything.
Besides, as soon as they returned to Kaer Morhen, carrier pigeons had already been sent to Kaer Seren with the news.
If Jerome Moreau did not return, nothing would be delayed.
It would be better for him to stay with the Wolf School, help perfect the second mutation technique, and then bring it back to Kaer Seren.
Yes.
Allen not only had no intention of hiding the second mutation from the Griffin School, he even intended to share it with them completely.
For one, Jerome Moreau had selflessly helped so much over these days. Without him, Sol's second mutation would have been delayed by at least a day or two—that difference could have been life or death.
Besides, Jerome Moreau would eventually return to his school. The second mutation could not be concealed forever.
Since the Wolf School and Allen could not bring themselves to kill in order to protect a single technique, it was better to share it openly.
This way, the Griffin School would owe him and the Wolf School a great favor, strengthening ties between them and accelerating research into the second mutation.
After all, the Griffin School was not like the Wolf School's sword-wielding brutes.
As the "mages" among witchers, the Griffin School had an extremely high level of culture and the deepest research into magic.
The very reason they would decline from an avalanche was because mages coveted Kaer Seren's library. When the Griffin School refused to share, the mages held a grudge and summoned an avalanche from the mountain behind the castle.
The enemies' fear and greed were proof enough of the Griffin School's cultural depth and magical mastery.
Allen himself was very busy. He could not devote himself fully to researching the second mutation, nor could he rely solely on experience orbs to unlock technology.
Since the sorceresses of Aretuza could not yet be drawn to his side, the Griffin School was the best partner. And with Jerome Moreau, who already understood the second mutation well, it was even better.
Moreover, strengthening ties now meant that even if the Griffin School maintained neutrality and could not join the fight against male mages, there were still the Wild Hunt and the White Frost to face.
Allen needed to cultivate reliable allies now.
"Then stay for a few more days," Allen nodded at his words. "Chief Sol should have similar questions, and besides, the Wolf School will certainly have another group of witchers undergoing the second mutation."
"Many minds together can always think of something."
"At that time, you can bring the perfected second mutation technique back to Kaer Seren."
"Bring the perfected second mutation technique back to Kaer Seren?" Jerome Moreau froze, repeating the words in surprise.
Allen raised an eyebrow. "You're unwilling?"
"Of… of course not…" Jerome Moreau just hadn't expected Allen to be so straightforward.
Never mind that the Griffin School and the Wolf School were closely tied as witchers.
When faced with profit, even witcher brothers from the same order would kill each other for the reward of a single contract—let alone for something as astonishing as a second mutation technique.
The Griffin School witchers were noble and righteous, but they had never been fools.
"But…"
Jerome Moreau hesitated, glancing at Sol, his mouth opening and closing as if wanting to speak but holding back.
"Allen's decision is the Wolf School's decision."
A deep, hoarse voice suddenly came from beside them.
Sol exhaled lightly, his crimson vertical pupils—burning as if aflame—opening. "Master Jerome, the Wolf School thanks you for your full support."
"Grandmaster…"
Caught red-handed in his "conspiracy" with Allen to swallow Wolf School assets, Jerome Moreau flushed in embarrassment and was about to explain.
But Sol raised his hand, cutting him off.
He rose to his feet, cast a gentle glance at Vera, then let his gaze sweep past Ida Emean, Vesemir, and Danthe, before finally resting on Allen.
"And not only this matter…" he said softly. "From now on, all of my power, duties, and responsibilities in the Wolf School will be completely entrusted to Allen."
The witchers' laboratory fell so silent at his words that one could hear every breath and heartbeat.
Danthe swallowed hard, exchanged a look with Vesemir, and rasped, "You mean…?"
"Yes. Exactly as you think."
The Wolf School's founder, Sol, sighed lightly, as though a heavy burden had lifted. "This winter, when the bonfires in the castle hall burn through the night, I will step down as Chief and pass the position to Allen."
"But… but…" Danthe stammered, glancing between Allen and Sol.
"But Chief," Vesemir interrupted, taking two steps forward in urgency, "you've fully recovered now, and your strength is greater than ever—why… why…?"
"This has nothing to do with power…" Sol let out a soft sigh. "Vesemir, Danthe… I can no longer see the road ahead."
"No—truthfully, I've never seen it clearly."
His gaze grew distant as he looked upward, eyes seeming to pierce the dark stone dome, as if seeing someone far away—or looking into the past.
After a long silence, he murmured, "I almost drove the Wolf School's wagon straight into the abyss…"
Drawing back his gaze, he met Vesemir's and Danthe's eyes seriously. "I will not leave the Wolf School. But the School needs a younger driver, with clearer sight, who can truly see the road ahead."
Vesemir and Danthe both felt the unwavering resolve in Sol's eyes.
They had known him for centuries, and they knew that once Sol made up his mind, no persuasion would change it. So they neither agreed nor opposed—only remained silent.
Sol didn't mind. He turned toward Allen, who stood quietly apart, as though detached from it all, and asked: "Do you want to be Chief?"
At that question, Allen felt himself pulled back to two or three months earlier at Kaer Morhen.
Back then, Sol had been crushed by the betrayal of "Glutton" Henselt, his spirit broken, his will faltering. Allen now knew that even his mighty Legacy Vessel had begun trembling and lamenting, the dragon's death-curse stirring within.
It was then that Sol had asked him the same question.
Back then, Allen had hesitated, tested, doubted…
But now—
Allen returned to himself and met Sol's burning dragon eyes.
"Of course."
"I've wanted to be Chief for a long time!"
....
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