"Since you have no objections, then it's settled."
Seeing Allen lower his head in silence, Ianna smiled warmly, gave his shoulder a gentle pat, and, with Nenneke's help, returned to her high-backed chair.
As soon as she sat down, she began issuing instructions with her usual decisive energy.
"Nenneke, pick a date for the Blessing Ceremony and notify the northern kingdoms so they can send representatives to witness it—"
"Yes, Archpriestess."
"Tissaia de Vries, Lady Philippa Eilhart, about the brotherhood'…"
"I'll take care of it," Tissaia nodded, her gaze softening as it fell on Allen.
"If Vera hears about this, I'm sure she'll be very happy too."
"Wait!" Allen finally broke his silence, startled by Ianna's quick decisions.
"There's a ceremony to become the Holy Son?"
"Of course!" Nenneke nodded matter-of-factly.
"Not only do we notify nobles, Brotherhood of Sorcerers, the Circle of Druids, and common believers, but there's also a month of fasting beforehand…"
"Then a three-day ritual, each day representing the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone…"
"Then you'll have formal meetings with temple envoys, envoys from various nations and factions, followed by a week-long holy pilgrimage…"
As Allen listened to the incredibly complex and lengthy procedure of the Holy Son's Blessing Ceremony, he felt his scalp go numb.
But thinking about it again—it made sense. For the largest religion in the Northern Continent, the confirmation of a Holy Son was a once-in-a-century event. Of course it wouldn't be handled hastily.
"What now? Weren't you fine with it just a moment ago?" Ianna frowned in displeasure.
"It's just that…" Allen glanced toward Vesemir.
"We're supposed to return to Kaer Morhen tomorrow…"
"Tomorrow?" Ianna's brows furrowed deeper, her tone now carrying a hint of dissatisfaction.
"What matter could be so urgent that you have to leave tomorrow?"
The three witchers all turned to look at Evenson.
"This has to do with that human?" Tissaia de Vries looked curiously at Evenson, lingering on him with interest as she interjected.
"Mind enchantment—it must've been the Axii Sign, a Witcher technique. So… who exactly is he?"
"And since you brought him here, it seems it's not just me who's looking for you—it looks like you were seeking me as well…"
Only now did Allen recall why they had come in the first place—it was because Tissaia had summoned them.
And then—
Allen glanced at Philippa Eilhart, only to catch her looking right at him.
Philippa didn't even flinch when their eyes met. Instead, she arched an eyebrow and held his gaze boldly, a spark of playful provocation in her eyes. The black onyx pendant nestled in her cleavage seemed to shimmer with a strange magical light.
Allen instinctively looked away.
If Philippa Eilhart was here representing the Brotherhood, then could this whole matter be connected to them?
Surely she hadn't been pulled from her work as a Brotherhood inspector and sent all the way to the Temple of Melitele just for a social introduction.
Allen asked, "Lady Tissaia, you said you had something to discuss with me?"
"Our matter isn't urgent," Tissaia smoothed the lace at her left cuff, speaking with amused curiosity.
"Let's hear yours first."
Ours… Allen glanced subtly at Ianna.
Ianna and Nenneke both gave imperceptible shakes of their heads.
Something this secretive—and even the hosts didn't know?
Allen's brow creased ever so slightly.
Still, they had come here seeking help. After organizing his thoughts, Allen was about to recount the events of the previous night in detail.
"I'll do it," Danthe suddenly spoke up.
"I was there. I know the details better than Allen."
Everyone's eyes turned to Allen.
"…That works too," Allen nodded.
The exact details of how Danthe, Hughes, Bond, and Fred ended up in Montecalvo, and how they were tricked into it, he really didn't know.
"This is Danthe," Allen briefly introduced, "A Witcher Master from the School of the Wolf. Hughes—the one Lysa rescued last evening—is his traveling apprentice."
Danthe, more gifted than Vesemir in telling stories, quickly laid out the events in a clear and coherent manner.
Though a victim himself, Danthe suppressed his anger. His tone was calm and restrained, with no embellishment—just a factual account.
As the tale unfolded, the expressions on Ianna and Nenneke's faces grew darker and more severe.
But the reactions from Tissaia de Vries and Philippa Eilhart, both members of the Brotherhood, were unexpectedly indifferent. They neither defended their fellow mages, nor expressed outrage at the Witchers' ordeal—they simply listened in silence.
Until…
"Wait!" Philippa Eilhart suddenly interrupted.
"You just said… Ronnie Dickinson? Are you saying you killed Ronnie Dickinson of the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization?"
Danthe, frowning at being cut off, nodded.
"That's right. Ronnie Dickinson. Though it wasn't we who killed him—it was I who did. Allen was busy handling the other sorcerers at the time."
That was the agreed-upon story among the three Wolf Witchers. Or more precisely, a version that Vesemir and Danthe had worked out in advance and made Allen memorize.
"No,"
Tissaia de Vries, who had been silent until now, pressed her crimson lips together and frowned.
"I know Ronnie Dickinson," she glanced at Danthe. "You couldn't have killed him."
Philippa Eilhart nodded in agreement.
"Ronnie Dickinson was a member of the High Council—a rare combat-focused sorcerer from the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization. Even during his days as an apprentice in Ban Ard, he was a consistent winner in spell duels."
"At Aretuza, students specializing in air and lightning spells still train using two of his compiled works—On the Practical Applications of Air-Based Magic and Practical Spell Models in Air Element Combat…"
"He would've been in his own laboratory, surrounded by five or six other sorcerers, all likely armed with high-value auto-trigger enchantments…"
Philippa didn't finish the sentence, but the meaning was clear.
Danthe's expression darkened at the implication that his strength was being questioned. He spoke slowly, holding his composure.
"They underestimated me. And they weren't carrying auto-trigger enchantments."
"And I have no reason to lie about killing such a powerful mage. I'm a Witcher from the School of the Wolf. We don't take assassination contracts."
"Besides, what happened in Drakenborg will come to light sooner or later…"
Philippa said nothing more.
No matter how improbable, no matter how absurd—it couldn't override the facts.
Whether it was carelessness or arrogance, if Ronnie Dickinson was truly dead, word would get out. Maybe Dickinson's combat prowess had dulled after becoming a High Council member and shifting his focus to research and lab work...
Just as she thought that—
"No," Tissaia de Vries adjusted the ring on her finger.
"Ronnie Dickinson was indeed killed by your group—but the one who dealt the final blow wasn't you."
Danthe's face tightened.
"Lady Tissaia, what are you suggesting? If it wasn't me, then who—?"
"Right, Allen?" Tissaia de Vries ignored Danthe and looked straight at Allen.
"What?!!" Philippa Eilhart froze for a moment, then exclaimed in disbelief.
She never imagined that what the headmistress was questioning wasn't whether Ronnie Dickinson was dead—but who had killed him.
How could that be possible?
This Witcher named Allen looked even younger than she was.
Philippa Eilhart couldn't believe it.
Of course, she had heard Tissaia de Vries briefly speak of Allen's deeds. She knew he had faced hundreds of wraiths, tamed a giant griffin, and even driven out an evil god...
But stories were stories. People were people.
Stories were always embellished—just like the recommendation letter Tissaia had written for her when she took up the role of a Sorcerers' inspector.
Sure, the accomplishments and projects were all true, but the phrasing like "played a role" or "made a significant contribution" were generously inflated. And don't even mention the "spontaneous praise" and glowing feedback some small towns sent in after her inspections.
Even she found some of it cringeworthy and embarrassing to read.
So when a character from one of those stories suddenly stood right before her in reality—it gave everything a new scale, a sense of proportion.
She'd never encountered hundreds of wraiths, had only seen the royal griffin in passing, and certainly never battled a real evil god.
All of that sounded impressive—but too distant, like clouds in the sky: massive in appearance but light, almost weightless.
Just like the dragonslayer tales in knight novels—grand, fantastical parables. With enough cleverness, the right unknown "weakness," and a good team, she could have done it too.
She simply hadn't had the chance—wasn't that all?
But she knew Ronnie Dickinson.
She knew of Ronnie Dickinson—but Ronnie Dickinson didn't know her. That kind of knowing.
She had attended lectures he gave when the academy invited him. She had studied from the very textbooks he compiled. She'd seen him speak at the annual conclave, sitting at the core table of the "Circle," his voice resonating with undeniable authority...
And once, brushing past him, she had felt that restrained, ocean-deep magical presence ripple from him like a mountain's pressure.
That was real. Tangible. A vast gulf between them.
Put simply—
In her current state, Ronnie Dickinson could have dealt with her without even needing his staff. Effortlessly. The sheer contrast felt like a gaping chasm—jarring and disorienting.
So…
How could this Witcher, barely fourteen, possibly be stronger than her?
Unconsciously, Philippa Eilhart straightened her back and locked her gaze on that dual-sword-wielding figure.
A long silence followed.
Allen sighed, then nodded slightly. "Yeah. It was me."
Vesemir and Danthe had taken it for granted.
With so many people in Drakenberg having seen Danthe carrying Allen into the tower, and given that neither of their identities could be kept hidden, there was no way they could fool someone like Tissaia de Vries—someone who had witnessed Allen's true power.
Just this morning, Allen had been thinking that his "advantage of information asymmetry" might last for another six months. He didn't expect it to be shattered so quickly.
Surprisingly, Tissaia de Vries didn't dwell on the fact that Allen had killed Ronnie Dickinson. She didn't seem to care at all about the death of a member of the Brotherhood of sorcerers's High Council. Instead, her eyes shifted to Evenson.
"So, he is…"
"He's the administrator of Drakenberg," Allen replied, "a Radania noble who plotted against Witchers—Evenson."
The flames on the wall-mounted candleholders were pulled into golden threads by a sudden draft.
The entire reception hall fell silent once again.
The three Witchers had clearly not brought a Radania noble here just to show him the scenic views of the Melitele Temple, nor had they simply run out of time to hide him before this meeting.
After a long pause, Nenneke finally spoke: "What do you intend to do with him?"
"In front of everyone here, and under the witness of Duke Mason, we'll uncover who's behind him—and then execute him."
"You understand what that means?" Philippa Eilhart couldn't help but speak up.
"Of course," Allen answered calmly, nodding. "We've thought through all the consequences during our return journey."
Another silence fell.
"Whose idea was it?" asked Ianna, expressionless.
Allen raised a hand to stop Vesemir and Danthe from answering. He met Ianna's aged yet piercing gaze directly and declared, "Mine, Mother Ianna. This was my decision. I convinced Vesemir and Danthe to go along with it."
"Do you really understand what this—"
"Philippa." Tissaia de Vries gently placed a hand on Philippa Eilhart's shoulder.
"But…" Philippa Eilhart couldn't help but speak again, her voice tinged with regret.
With that single "of course," the chance to stand atop the power pyramid of the entire Northern Continent was gone…
No matter how powerful the Temple of Melitele was, they would never allow a Witcher who had offended Redania to become their Holy Son.
Even if Ianna had some unknown reason for favoring this Witcher, it wouldn't be enough.
After all, the School of the Wolf was just a single faction—how could it possibly withstand the animosity of so many powerful forces?
Philippa Eilhart felt a deep sense of loss, watching someone throw away the power she herself had dreamed of but could never attain.
"He has made his decision."
Tissaia de Vries cut Philippa off and fixed her gaze on Allen's bright blue eyes.
"Why would you think I'd serve as a witness for you Witchers?"
"It's Ellander who owes you, the Temple of Melitele who owes you—but not Aretuza."
"And besides…"
"Ronnie Dickinson was a member of the High Council of the Brotherhood of sorcerers. I'm the Chairwoman of the Brotherhood of sorcerers. Should I not avenge a fellow sorcerer who died by your hands?"
As her words fell, the air in the hall shifted dramatically—like a sudden storm rolling in.
Philippa Eilhart straightened her back and subtly edged closer to her mentor.
Vesemir and Danthe—two master Witchers of the School of the Wolf—immediately became alert. Their right hands twitched instinctively.
Their faction medallions didn't react, but then again, not all magic triggered them—especially when it came to those of immense power.
And Tissaia de Vries had long surpassed even that.
Allen, however, remained still. He only lowered his head and pondered quietly for a few seconds, as if searching for the right words. Then he looked up and said calmly, "Because you are Tissaia de Vries."
He met the sorceress's eyes, which shimmered faintly with the glow of magic.
"Because you're the Headmistress of Aretuza, a senior of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers—and yet, you led the women of your academy to risk everything for Ellander, under threat from an evil god. When no other power stood by us, you did."
"Because you once told me…"
"The Northern Continent needs the power of order now more than ever—and order must be protected."
...
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