[Ding! Would you like to use Ronnie Dickinson's Legacy Vessel?]
The cold mechanical prompt echoed beside Allen's ear, and at once, the icon in his inventory stirred to life.
A translucent golden goblet floated amid a haze of shimmering light, like a vessel sailing toward some distant shore. But something felt... strange.
Though Ronnie Dickinson's Legacy Vessel bore the same string of question marks on its item panel and carried a similar warning — "Sometimes, knowing too much before you're ready can be dangerous" — just like those cryptic @#￥%& elements, Allen didn't feel that same overwhelming pull.
Those elements had once made him forget to breathe, every cell in his body yearning for them like a dying traveler spotting an oasis.
But this vessel… it was different.
It was… resisting him.
It was as though the vessel had a will of its own, quietly rejecting him.
"Tuk-tuk-tuk~"
Fingers tapped against the table. Allen frowned and muttered, "Legacy Vessel…"
He could sense he could forcefully absorb it — and yet, the unconscious hesitation and the vessel's rejection were signs in themselves.
"I still know too little about legacy vessels…"
He shook his head and gave up the idea of using Ronnie Dickinson's Legacy Vessel for now.
Unlike the elements, it wasn't just instinct that held him back — even the name itself demanded caution.
Was a Legacy Vessel a container for a legacy, or a container created by a legacy?
Both interpretations existed.
If it were the former — a vessel to hold a legacy — then what was it forged from?
In many fantasy tales from his past life, such vessels used for advancement or ascension were often made from materials tied to the soul itself.
Could he really house his own legacy in someone else's vessel without consequence?
And if it were the latter — a container forged by someone else's legacy — that would be even more problematic.
Legacies were deeply personal. Something forged from Ronnie Dickinson's legacy might be meant to hold something vital to his future, not Allen's.
It would be like Heracles trying to atone and ascend to godhood, but skipping his own twelve labors and stealing someone else's accomplishments.
It just felt wrong.
Whether or not it was disgraceful, would the gods of Olympus really acknowledge it?
Allen shook his head again.
If an item were truly dangerous, the Witcher Journal would likely block its use or prompt a second warning — like it did when his stats reached a threshold. Still, this concerned his future path of ascension. He didn't want to gamble. And he didn't need to.
He began to ponder how to gather more information on legacy vessels.
"Tissaia de Vries must've gone through this process. But I can't ask her—if legacy vessels are highly sensitive among sorcerers, that would be risky."
Which was likely the case — even Vesemir and Danthe, masters with centuries of experience, hadn't heard of them.
That only showed how tightly the sorcerers kept this secret.
"Ianna might know, though. As the Arch-priestess of Melitele, it makes sense she'd be privy to some deeper mysteries."
"If she doesn't, Aristo is a lead — he's close with the prophet Lebioda, and Lebioda seems to be undergoing some kind of legacy-based ascension…"
"Lady Vera might also know. She's the most powerful sorceress after Tissaia de Vries…"
"…Wait."
Allen's eyes lit up suddenly.
"Even if none of them know, Melitele herself surely does."
"The only question is whether the goddess has recovered from the divine exhaustion after expelling the evil god."
"The prerequisites for a legacy vessel likely require maxing out both Perception and Mystery, so it's not urgent enough to bother a deity just yet."
"Spending 100 experience pearls to commune with her… that's still too steep. Especially when I've got 7 or 8 golden chests to unlock and more pressing needs…"
"Alright then. I'll try asking Ianna tonight. If that fails, I'll go to the sanctum and test whether the goddess has recovered. And if that also fails, when I return to Kaer Morhen tomorrow, I'll ask Aristo and Vera."
"There's no way none of them know anything. And even if they don't, I can still max out both stats and then use those 100 pearls to commune with Melitele directly."
Having sorted out his plan for the Legacy Vessel, Allen shifted his focus.
[Name: Leshen Element]
[Type: ?]
[Function: ?]
[Note: Sometimes, knowing too much before you're ready can be dangerous.]
Like the elements tied to the evil gods, the Leshen's element was surrounded by question marks — the Witcher Journal offered no further details.
It was as though even knowing the hidden information could draw the attention of some higher being — and their wrath.
It was eerily similar to the Legacy Vessel.
So similar, in fact, that Allen couldn't help but wonder if these elements were the very things legacy vessels were meant to contain.
But that raised another question — if he hadn't even manifested his own legacy vessel yet, how was he able to absorb elements?
He had clearly absorbed the evil god's element — and it had caused quite a stir when he did.
Could it be that the Witcher Journal was acting in place of the Legacy Vessel?
Or perhaps these mysterious elements could be integrated into the body by their very nature?
Allen shook his head and dismissed the identification panel.
The swirling green mist, like a star cluster radiating fresh verdant light, shimmered brilliantly in his inventory—utterly mesmerizing.
It wasn't as overwhelming as the @#￥%& element, but it still stirred something far deeper than the vague temptation of Ronnie Dickinson's Legacy Vessel. The moment his eyes fell on that green nebula, he felt every part of his body—flesh, blood, bone—begin to stir with longing.
And he didn't resist it.
[Ding! Use Leshen Element?]
---
The forest was singing.
Sunlight pierced through the thick canopy of green oaks, dancing across the leaves, strange stones, and dark soil below.
Birds chased flickering specks of light with tilted heads and bright calls.
Half-buried in knee-high grass, Allen stared at the sight before him in a daze. His right hand sank into the soft earth as he slowly pushed himself upright, ears twitching of their own accord.
"Shhhhhh~"
The faint sound of flowing water finally reached his ears—as though he had simply failed to notice it before.
But that wasn't the case.
He knew for certain.
There hadn't been any sound of water before. Only the warm, faintly cool breeze that rustled through the endless trees. Still, it didn't strike him as strange. Somehow, it felt like things had always been this way.
The water seemed to come from a direction identical to all the others—no different from the surrounding forest. The same verdant greens, the same rich browns, the same vibrant life.
"Step~ Step~ Step~"
He moved across the soft grass, following the sound of the water.
With each step, the lush green beneath his feet responded eagerly, almost affectionately.
Junipers… then gorse… trembling aspens… and towering oaks…
This vast woodland clearing felt increasingly connected to him—as if it were becoming part of him.
He stepped off the meadow and into the deeper forest.
The scenery grew ever more vivid, more imposing, more alive. Earthworms wriggled their brown bodies through the soil, shaggy mushrooms rooted themselves into every rotting stump, and massive banyans dangled thick aerial roots from above, cutting off nearly every shaft of sunlight.
The warm, gentle wind that once whispered through the woods turned suddenly cold and sharp.
The banyan trees were ruthless—dominating the forest floor, suffocating all other life.
Allen wasn't particularly skilled in botany. He only knew a handful of common herbs used in potion-making.
But even with that limited knowledge, he understood one thing clearly: there was no way so many different plant species—so densely packed—could ever coexist in one natural habitat.
No matter how fertile the soil, it simply couldn't sustain such richness. But he said nothing. He didn't stop, didn't hesitate, didn't pause to think—he simply continued forward, following the sound of flowing water.
Then he saw it.
A white-tailed squirrel gnawing on a pine cone. A young deer perking its ears, glancing back curiously.
And beside the fawn, just two steps away, a massive wolf.
It was enormous—its shadow alone enveloped the entire fawn. Yet the two did not harm each other.
The wolf's silver-gray fur shimmered beautifully in the light.
There were also wild boars, tigers, brown bears, white doves, ravens, and hawks...
As Allen passed by, no matter what they had been doing, each of them suddenly seemed to sense something. They paused. They looked at him.
There was no trail in the forest, yet as these strange animals silently halted on either side, the path before Allen became a road.
He walked along it.
And all the animals watched him in silence, paying him quiet homage.
There was not a sound from any bird or beast, yet whispers echoed—faint and indistinct—at the edge of his hearing, as though fluttering just beside his ears, or rippling softly through his thoughts.
They were speaking:
"What is he?"
He was human. A Witcher. That much was certain.
The question was too simple to be aimed at him. And more importantly, they said "he," not "you." They were not asking him directly.
So he didn't respond. Didn't speak. He simply kept moving forward. Then they whispered again: "He's still walking."
Of course he was walking forward.
There was nothing strange about that.
The flowing sound of water rang like chimes in his ears, guiding and urging him onward. The path beneath his feet was soft, but not muddy.
Of course he walked forward. He had to.
He must.
Shhhhhh~
The sound of water grew clearer, sharper, closer.
Between shifting shadows of swaying trees, ripples of light shimmered—faint but undeniable.
He was getting closer.
And those strange animals now fell behind him.
As they did, the whispers faded too. Even though he had taken only a few more steps, the voices were gone. But he wasn't surprised.
The water's song grew louder. The flickers of reflected light ahead became almost blinding. His mind emptied of all else.
When all thought fell still—when everything converged into silence—
He no longer needed to step around bushes, pits, or trees in his way.
For the massive banyan trees raised their roots, sweeping aside underbrush. Their netted roots shifted huge clumps of earth.
The fallen soil filled in shallow pits ahead of him.
He watched as a thousand-year-old oak bent its thick branch, forming a bridge over the hollow.
He stepped onto the bridge. The thick foliage parted for him.
He stepped down from the other side.
And then he saw it.
A lake.
Its surface should have been deep and jade-like, but now it shimmered like gold, dazzling under the sun's reflection. And in that instant, something clicked inside Allen.
He understood.
He had arrived.
The lake teemed with life—but there were no fish.
Blocking Allen's path stood a reindeer, even mightier than the silver wolf he had seen before.
Golden sunlight poured down upon its antlers, vast as tree limbs, draped in hanging moss. The glint of blue-gold light shimmered over them—less like antlers, and more like a crown worn by a sovereign of all woodland life.
Solemn. Beautiful. Majestic.
The reindeer stood with eyes closed, its lips gently moving as it grazed.
As Allen stepped down from the tree limbs, his feet sinking into the soft earth, the reindeer halted its chewing. Slowly, it lifted its head to look at him.
It was judging him.
Allen didn't stop. He continued walking forward.
The reindeer didn't move aside, and Allen didn't intend to either.
Despite its size, the reindeer didn't fully block the path to the Nameless Lake. He could've passed from either side. By nature, Allen would have chosen to detour.
But something stirred inside him—a sudden, proud defiance that refused to bow, refused to divert. As if stepping off this path, even to reach the Nameless Lake, would mean arriving somewhere not truly his own.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Heavy hoofbeats echoed across the lakeside.
He drew closer to the reindeer.
The creature swallowed its grass and rose. Its massive hooves, thick as ancient tree trunks, lifted its body.
A towering shadow fell over him, blotting out all sight of the lake. Still, Allen did not stop. One step. Two. Three…
After ten steps, he stood directly before the reindeer, locking eyes with those golden, gentle yet dignified pupils. Two more steps, and he'd press against its massive chest.
Plink…
A single droplet of water, as if falling from the sky, struck the surface of the lake.
The reindeer's gaze flickered.
Just one step away, it shifted slightly—just enough to let him pass.
They brushed shoulders.
Allen didn't react. He walked past the reindeer and approached the lake. Without thinking, guided by instinct alone, he knelt, bent forward, and lowered his head to scoop up a handful of water to quench a strange, unexplained thirst.
Then—
A deep, resonant voice murmured in his ear.
That solemn, commanding voice asked:"What are you?"
Allen paused.
He opened his mouth.
He closed it again.
He was thinking over the question—so simple, yet so profound.
Yes… what was he?
He couldn't answer. So he looked down, hoping to find a clue in his reflection on the water's surface.
At that thought, the wind died. The world fell still.
The emerald lake smoothed instantly, becoming a perfect mirror.
But he did not see himself.
Beneath the water stared back a massive beast—its golden mane flowing, sharp fangs protruding from its lips—gazing at him from the lakebed.
And strangely—
Despite its ferocious appearance, Allen didn't sense violence or malice. He felt divinity. A calm that did not match the creature's form.
A calm that matched his own.
No…
That beast was him.
"Kanu."
A word that belonged to no human tongue, no Elder Speech, slipped from his lips unbidden.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Suddenly, a fierce wind howled across the lake, rippling the surface. The beast vanished.
BOOM!
Thunder cracked.
The once-tranquil forest now roared like a collapsing sky.
Caught unprepared, Allen lost his balance. The ground vanished beneath him, and he plunged into the Nameless Lake.
Splash—!
And just before the comforting warmth and darkness embraced him—
He heard the voice again, echoing through the water, right beside his ear: "Kanu? Strange pronunciation."
"I will remember it."
.........
📢Advanced chapters on p@treaon📢
For advance chapters: [email protected]/Uchiha_Itachi007 (replace @ with a)
1. 30 advanced chapters of American Comics: Multiverse of Madness.
2. 20 advanced chapters of The Witcher: Wolf School's Hunting Notes.
3. 30 advanced chapters of What year is this? You're still writing a traditional diary?.