Allen's fingers gripped the smooth stone wall as he looked down one last time.
Dust swirled in the air, and sunlight spilling through the cracks formed a bright, crystalline path across the darkness.
Below him, Vilgefortz stepped onto the metal staff wedged into the crevice.
The man who, in the future, would cripple the Witcher master Geralt with nothing but his staff technique—was, at this moment, just beginning to show his potential.
The black water below was littered with charred arms and half-severed legs, their bone stumps gleaming pale in the dim light.
"Hoo~"
Allen drew back his gaze, inhaling a deep breath thick with the wet, burning stench of blood and soot.
His left hand clung tightly to the cracks in the rock, while his right forearm pressed against the large stone covering the well's mouth, slowly pushing upward.
"Kraa… kraa…"
The stone grated against the well's rim, heavy and dull.
As the light filtering into the well grew stronger, the crackling of burning wood, the shouts of battle, and the screams of the dying became increasingly clear.
Allen tensed his muscles, carefully prying open a narrow gap and peering through.
His heart thumped with a deep, oppressive beat—like thunder muffled within storm clouds on a summer afternoon.
Burnt chimneys stood crooked amid blackened ruins. Flames licked the fallen beams, and the blood pooled beneath the lifeless body of a woman.
Her pale yellow dress unfurled in the crimson water, blooming into a bright, cruel flower.
His gaze paused, then slowly lifted.
Just as in his vision, the entire new city of Ban Ard had become one massive ritual circle—far exceeding in scale even the necromantic rites of the Withered Forest.
In the distance, several scarlet pillars of light rose into the sky around the city, bending and converging above upon a flying beast—part dragon, part nightmare.
Upon its back sat Ortolan, the white-haired elder, gripping a blood-red lance that blazed like fire.
At that moment, Ortolan looked every bit the dragon-slaying hero from ancient legend, brandishing his crimson spear in the heavens.
And facing him—
Allen took another slow breath, glancing sideways with the corner of his eye.
It was at that instant…
A skull lit with red ghostfire turned downward—
Renakins, the Wild Hunt general, had noticed something.
Allen froze.
His heart thundered so loudly it felt as if the whole world beat in rhythm with it.
Then—
The Wild Hunt's gaze swept over the Upper City where the ancient well lay hidden. But before he could act, Ortolan charged forward, forcing him to divert attention and fight in earnest.
"Good… it works," Allen breathed out quietly.
Whatever means the Wild Hunt used to locate him, it clearly wasn't perfect. Back in the Withered Forest, when the Conjunction of the Spheres had drawn them in, they had searched for him for hours, yet failed to find his body hidden high in a pine tree—concealed by Night·Shade and the Mirage Pearl—and were instead distracted by the Ban Ard mages.
There was no reason the same trick would fail here, even in Ban Ard, where there were more mages and stronger ones at that.
So he was certain—
The Wild Hunt could sense his location, but imprecisely, and only if they could confirm it with their own eyes.
Or perhaps—accurate sensing required more time.
Just like in the Withered Forest, they must have eventually found him…
But because the Ban Ard mages had acted first, they mistook him for one of them.
After that, the battle grew chaotic, and the connection was lost.
When Ortolan and Sunny arrived with their forces, they must have realized the signal had vanished—and so they suddenly withdrew.
Then they followed the fading trace all the way to Ban Ard.
That was Allen's theory.
And considering how fast the Wild Hunt could travel—both flying and through portals—it was no wonder their pursuit across distances was much faster than his escape on foot.
The farther away he was, the weaker the connection became.
That explained why, even after nearly three months, they had never found Kaer Morhen.
But still…
Even if they managed to survive this encounter, as long as the Wild Hunt continued to roam Kaedwen's skies, there would come a day when they found him again—perhaps even the Ancient Sea Fortress itself.
Allen thought grimly as he slowly pushed aside the rest of the stone covering the well. Then, carrying Hen Gedymdeith on his back, he leapt upward—landing lightly on the blood-slick cobblestones.
The horizon still glowed faintly with the red-gold light of dawn, but beneath the blue sky, black smoke rose in every direction, corpses scattered across the streets like a vision of hell.
Allen surveyed the area in silence.
Vilgefortz's earlier words weren't entirely accurate.
The old well was indeed in the Upper City—but only barely.
It actually sat on the border where the Industrial Quarter, Lower City, and Upper City met.
From here, he could see smoke rising from all three districts.
But in terms of damage, the Upper City still fared far better than the rest.
The Lower City, by contrast, was hardly recognizable as a city anymore—just a wasteland of rubble and ash.
It made sense, of course.
The Upper City housed merchants, nobles, and the families of the Ban Ard–Rissberg Group.
They had to be protected.
Many of the buildings here were already reinforced with small-scale magical barriers for precisely this kind of event.
The Lower City was home to war refugees, while the Industrial Quarter housed the skilled artisans—smiths, tailors, weavers—chosen from among them.
Such disparity was natural.
What wasn't natural, however, was that the mages of Ban Ard and the Rissberg Group somehow still had the power to control the scale of this war.
In this battle between the mages and the Wild Hunt, the mages were far stronger than he'd expected.
Step.
Also cloaked by illusion, Vilgefortz followed right behind, emerging from the well in silence.
"There…"
As soon as he landed, Vilgefortz crept down the ruined street toward the gallery of Lydia, Shaeira's Courtyard.
Along the way, they ran into two groups of patrolling guards—both of which they managed to avoid through skill and stealth.
Even so, beneath Night·Shade, Allen's expression grew darker and darker.
The guards were equipped with devices that detected magical fluctuations.
Every time one passed by, he was forced to dispel his illusion temporarily to avoid being discovered.
And every time he did—for just a moment without that protective veil—the back of his neck prickled like a thousand needles stabbing at once, his Witcher senses screaming of danger.
Up above, the clash between Ortolan and the Wild Hunt drew ever closer to their position—
"BOOM!"
A thunderous explosion erupted almost directly overhead, shaking dust from the ceiling in waves.
"Damn it!"
Having barely evaded another patrol, Allen quickly activated the Mirage Pearl, casting another mirage around them as he swore under his breath.
The Wild Hunt's sense of me is getting sharper…
If not for Ortolan and the mages of Rissberg keeping them occupied—and for the Upper City's buildings providing cover—
they'd have already been caught.
He would be discovered — sooner or later.
"What do we do?"
The witcher moved swiftly behind the Wild Hunt's patrols, mind racing furiously for an answer.
"We're here."
Vilgefortz's voice broke Allen's train of thought.
Before Allen realized it, they had already reached the corner of a street — before a magic supply shop called Old Tom's General Store, wedged between the shop itself and a small residence.
Across the narrow alley stood Lydia's gallery — Shaeira's Courtyard.
The gallery looked intact, untouched by the devastation around it.
But instead of heading straight over, Vilgefortz stopped, closed his eyes, and raised his index finger in the air, swaying it lightly.
A faint cluster of dark violet light gathered at his fingertip, then drifted away, gliding low along the shadows until it slipped through the carved yew door of Lydia's gallery.
Almost at once, the door creaked open.
Lydia van Bredevoort cautiously peered outside.
-----------------------------------
The moment the door shut behind them, a blur of white rushed past Allen's vision — Lydia hurled herself at Vilgefortz and wrapped him tightly in her arms.
"Vigo… when Sunny and Ortolan came back, I thought— I thought you—"
Her pale face trembled between terror and relief, tears already soaking into his filthy black robe.
"I'm fine. I'm fine…" Vilgefortz hesitated for a heartbeat, then gave Allen an apologetic smile while gently patting the sorceress's back.
Allen watched, momentarily dazed.
He remembered — once upon a time, after every narrow escape, there had always been a woman — or more than one — waiting in fear and relief to embrace him the same way.
After the Trial of the Mountains, it was Vera.
Escaping the abandoned mine of Viscount Hudson — Francesca Findabair.
The first time the Wild Hunt appeared at Floating Harbor — it was Mary who tended his wounds.
And during the May Festival…
For some reason, thinking of them now, he felt a faint ache of longing for the fortress by the ancient sea — though he had left it only recently.
"Alright, Lydia, Allen's here…"
Before Allen could speak, Vilgefortz eased Lydia back, his expression growing serious.
"Lydia, our identities have already been exposed to Sunny. Your gallery may be obscure, but it won't withstand a search."
"Our time is running short."
For a split second, Lydia's eyes dimmed.
But she quickly mastered her emotions, wiped her damp cheeks, and turned toward Allen with a small, embarrassed smile.
"After Ortolan and Sunny returned," she said quickly, "I took the chance to observe them again. Luckily, they didn't return straight to the Academy. Instead, after sealing off the entire city of Ban Ard, they stationed men at the gates — as if searching for something."
"They sealed the city the moment they got back?" Vilgefortz frowned, glancing sideways at Allen. "Was this before the Wild Hunt appeared?"
Lydia nodded. "Yes. Before the Hunt appeared. And they were clearly shocked when it did."
"They were probably looking for me," Allen admitted plainly. "I came from deep in the Blue Mountains, from the battlefield between the Free Elves and Ban Ard. When the Wild Hunt appeared — when Ortolan and Sunny led reinforcements — I was there."
Lydia's eyes widened in disbelief. She turned to Vilgefortz, but he seemed just as stunned.
She had heard rumors — whispers spreading among those who survived Ortolan's return — that Ban Ard had failed to destroy the Free Elves, that the mountain folk had escaped, and that some "unforeseen incident" had drawn the Wild Hunt itself, leaving Ban Ard in ruins.
But she had never imagined that this witcher — this "Child of Miracles," as Vilgefortz had called him — was at the center of it all.
Could it be that the Free Elves were saved because of him?
That the Hunt had come because of him?
That Ban Ard's ruin was because of him?
A single witcher… bringing Ban Ard and the Rissberg Group to their knees?
Impossible… wasn't it?
"But that no longer matters," Allen said calmly. "Lady Lydia — have you found a way out of Ban Ard? Past the lockdown, past Rissberg's patrols?"
"Vilgefortz mentioned earlier that the southern wall isn't fully repaired—"
"Lady Lydia?"
Only when Allen called her name again did Lydia van Bredevoort blink, snapping out of her dark speculations.
She glanced again at Vilgefortz. Unlike her, he showed no shock — as though he had expected this all along.
"…I'm sorry."
Lydia van Bredevoort brushed the loose strands of hair from her forehead, murmured an apology, and then led Allen and Vilgefortz deeper into the gallery.
"The southern wall won't work," she said softly. "After Sunny and Ortolan locked down Ban Ard, I began tracking the movements of the mages and guards…"
She stopped before a painting hanging midway down the corridor.
It was an oil painting — a bird's-eye view of a ruined city.
Raising a yew staff she had conjured with a flick of her hand, Lydia waved it gently.
Immediately, numerous red dots appeared across the painting, drifting along the streets and alleys of the depicted city.
"The southern wall is the most heavily guarded." She tapped the edge of the ruined city with her staff's tip — the red dots there clustered densely together. "But no matter which side we try, all walls are under strict surveillance."
"Ortolan didn't even bring Rissberg's mages to fight the Wild Hunt with him. Instead, he scattered them among the city patrols, blending them with the guards."
"Some of those patrol routes may look weak, but if we alert even one mage or guard… there will be no chance to escape."
Allen and Vilgefortz stared at the dense red lights along the painting's edges in silence.
The mages of Ban Ard and the Rissberg Group were some of the sharpest minds in the world. Any loophole Vilgefortz could think of — they would have foreseen as well.
No wonder it had been so "easy" to climb out of the old well earlier. The mages and guards weren't lax — they had simply all been drawn to the walls.
So what now?
The candlelight flickered weakly in the woven rattan holder, casting the long corridor into a suffocating silence.
No one spoke for a long time.
"…We need someone."
Lydia's voice finally broke the stillness. "Someone to draw the guards' attention away from the others."
She hesitated, her gaze lingering on Vilgefortz with quiet affection. Then, taking a deep breath, she said solemnly, "I can distract them for you…"
"I'll be that person."
Allen interrupted her firmly.
Both Lydia and Vilgefortz froze, staring at him — but Allen only smiled faintly, calm and resolute.
"That person," he said, "can only be me."
........
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