Hearing the knock on the door, Allen instinctively glanced around.
The golden glow of the setting sun filtered through the window lattice, casting warm rays over the many flowers and plants inside the room.
The entire wooden cabin no longer looked plain in the slightest.
But to be honest, though everything looked utterly transformed, the room—now filled with lush blooms and greenery—didn't feel chaotic at all.
Instead, the way the crimson reds, vibrant greens, deep blues, and pale purples were arranged gave off a strange, harmonious charm.
Beautiful, yet unnatural.
As Allen stepped off the bed, his feet sank into the soft rug woven from young grass. Every plant his eyes passed over seemed to radiate affection and longing.
That feeling was especially intense.
A green vine he had earlier buried into the soil stretched out a tiny tendril, tilting its tip like a curious human testing boundaries.
Knock knock knock~
Allen paused, sighed quietly, and ultimately chose not to deal with the strangeness of the room.
After all, this wasn't the first or second time. Whether it was the Witchers or the priestesses of the Melitele Temple, they had likely grown used to his "unusual nature" by now.
No need to wipe away the natural wonder in front of him like he used to, just to hide it.
Truthfully, even if he didn't know exactly how this floral miracle formed—whether it was an instinctive power or something else—he actually liked it quite a lot.
Besides, Melitele Temple was already treating him like a holy son. A few peculiarities here and there wouldn't hurt.
Creak~
The door opened.
Lysa stood outside. For some reason, though, she looked nervous—her big eyes avoided his, flickering with hesitation.
"What's wrong, Lysa?" Allen asked.
"Allen… Hughes is awake…" Lysa finally spoke after a long silence.
Yet her expression didn't match the simple message.
Sure, Hughes waking up was good news, but it wasn't anything that should've made her look so anxious or flustered.
"Uh…" Allen looked at the priestess, whose cheeks were flushed to the point of looking almost feverish. He hesitated for a moment. "Hughes is awake… that's great, but are you okay? Are you not feeling well?"
"N-no, I'm fine…"
Under the worried gaze of those deep blue eyes, the young priestess dropped her head nervously, then lifted it again, then dropped it once more—completely at a loss.
[Lysa, it doesn't matter who comes first—it matters who stays to the end.]
[Now that you've got competition, you have to be proactive!]
[Do you want to be replaced?]
Grandmother Cirilla's words echoed in Lysa's ears again.
Of course not… She bit her lip, twisted the hem of her white priestess robe between her fingers, then suddenly looked up and drew in a deep breath: "Allen, I—"
A wave of heavy, rich floral fragrance rushed out from the room and cut her off mid-sentence.
Flowers… Lysa twitched her delicate nose, and her words halted.
She'd never smelled this scent before. It wasn't the citrus perfume, nor that of Margarita Laux-Antille, and certainly not Lady Vera's…
Why… did Allen's room smell like flowers?
Had she come too late… missed her chance… been replaced?
But… they had only just returned, hadn't they?
-----------------------------------
In that instant, Lysa's mind spun with a hundred swirling thoughts.
"Are you really okay?" Allen asked gently, taking a step closer to examine her face with concern.
Lysa's flushed cheeks suddenly turned pale. She didn't answer. Instead, she bit her lip and leaned slightly to look past Allen into the room.
Noticing something was off in her mood, Allen thought for a moment and stepped aside.
The door swung wide open.
The rich fragrance of flowers grew even stronger.
"Huh?"
With just one glance, Lysa froze.
There wasn't any woman in the room—which made her breathe a sigh of relief—but aside from the bed, flowers covered every surface: walls, floor, ceiling, table, chairs…
She blinked several times, then rubbed her eyes, glancing at Allen and then back at the room.
"Allen… this is your room?!"
"Yes. It's my room, though it has undergone a bit of… uh…" Allen paused, "a change."
A change?
Lysa stared blankly at the space within. Compared to this, the temple garden looked half-dead. And if she wasn't mistaken, many of these flowers weren't even in season...
And that was supposed to be just a bit of a change?
"I had some insight during my training," Allen scratched his head, "Sorry I made a mess of the temple guest room…"
After all, this room had been temporarily assigned to them by the temple, and since he was returning to Kaer Morhen tomorrow, he'd probably need to clear out all the overly vigorous plant growth today.
"It's fine, really!" Lysa waved her hands quickly and glanced into the room again. "It looks beautiful. I never imagined a room could be decorated like this."
"Well, it wasn't really intentional," Allen explained, "It's just a side effect of the training. I'll clean everything up before we leave."
"No need, no need! I'm sure Mother Ianna and Lady Nenneke would love it…" Lysa suddenly paused mid-sentence, her bright eyes snapping back to Allen. "Wait… did you say you're leaving the temple?"
Allen nodded. "We're heading out tomorrow. We need to return to the School."
"You… you're really going…" Lysa faltered, then suddenly remembered the wounded still recovering. She hurriedly said, "But… but Hughes and the others are still badly injured. They're in no condition for a long journey. Can't you wait a few more months, until they've healed?"
"And what about the duke's request? The ghoul infestations…"
"The ghoul threat has mostly been dealt with," Allen shook his head. "What's left can be handled by the duke's monster-hunting Regiment. With the past few weeks of training, and with the necrophage oil we supplied, it won't be a problem."
"As for Hughes and the others…"
"I already spoke with Mother Ianna. Hughes will stay at the temple to recover. He'll leave once he's healed."
"Iron Shield and Furi will also remain in Ellander. I'll ask Mother Ianna and the old duke to help them find work."
"There's just been too much happening recently. Vesemir and I need to return and report to Chief Sol."
"I… I see…" Lysa's voice softened with disappointment. "Then… when will you all come back to Ellander?"
Allen didn't answer right away. He simply looked at Lysa, quietly, until she grew flustered and tried to cover it up: "I just… I just meant that once Hughes recovers, he won't be able to make it back to Kaer Morhen on his own. Not through war-torn Aedirn and Kaedwen, so…"
Allen was silent for a long time before finally replying—though not to her question: "Lysa, I'm a witcher. A man who lives to hunt monsters."
"A witcher is always on the road, always fighting, never staying in one place... unless he's dead."
"Don't say that, Allen!" Lysa's voice suddenly rose, her eyes pleading.
"You're the hero of Ellander—the Blue Death, the God-Slayer! You're always victorious, always stronger than the moment before. How could you possibly die?"
"Lysa…" Allen was briefly stunned.
He looked at the young priestess, always so gentle and radiant—but now her stubborn, determined expression felt strangely familiar.
In a flash, he remembered where he'd seen it before.
It had been at the abandoned castle of Viscount Hudson—during Francesca's escape, in that forest cabin.
Back then, she had still been the vengeful girl who wanted nothing more than to kill the "Glutton" Henselt. So much so that she'd risked her life to secretly ask Allen if she could become a witcher.
It hadn't been that long ago.
And yet now, the kind and well-loved priestess praised by all of Ellander and the Melitele Temple seemed so at home in the temple, Allen had nearly forgotten her past—forgotten she'd once watched her parents die before her very eyes. As if she'd always grown up safe and happy among the clergy.
"Don't talk about dying, Allen," Lysa murmured, resting one hand against the doorframe and lowering her head. "When people die, they can't roll their favorite tobacco anymore, can't twist words into poems, can't laugh with their knights about grand dreams of the future…"
"They can't listen to masters play the psaltery, plant roses, water lavender, dress up for balls, or write letters to friends and family…"
"When you die, Allen, everything is gone."
"There's nothing left."
"Ly—" Allen had just started to reach out, to ruffle her hair or say something comforting—
When suddenly, something soft and warm pressed against him, like a drifting white cloud curling into his arms.
Her braided brown hair smelled faintly of daisies.
Her delicate cheek burned against the side of his neck, as if trying to melt into him. And yet the hands that clung to him were cold, trembling.
"Don't die, Allen. Please… never die…" she whispered against his chest.
But who can truly avoid death?
Could the so-called "Child of Miracles" really survive until the end, win against fate?
The Trial of the Mountain, the abandoned mines, the Cat School ambush, the arena tournament, Mayfest, the Forest of Passolon, the White Frost spirals, the arrival of false gods…
So many times, the Reaper's scythe had passed within a hair's breadth of his neck.
"Allen…" The voice seemed to echo from his very heartbeat.
"Yes," he sighed softly, brushing her hair with his hand, his voice gentle. "I won't die. Never…"
The soft cloud in Allen's arms trembled slightly, and the scent of daisies grew stronger.
"Allen, I…"
Creaaak~
A door moaned open in the hallway, cutting Lysa off. Startled, she took a sudden step back and nearly tripped over the threshold.
"Captain… Priestess Lysa?" Clay stepped out, rubbing his eyes and blinking.
He looked at the girl not far from Allen, head lowered, cheeks flushed deep red, and his expression turned strange.
"Lysa came to inform us—Hughes is awake," Allen explained, glancing at the priestess and helping her out of the awkward moment.
Creaaak~ Another door opened down the hall.
"Hughes is awake?!" Master Danthe stepped out, exhaustion still heavy in his eyes.
It seemed he, like Allen, had not taken the afternoon to rest.
Allen looked over at Lysa.
Smelling the faint trace of blood still lingering in the air, Lysa sighed softly. After composing herself, she nodded. "He's awake. Hughes is recovering well. Lady Cirilla says he can try walking in about a week."
"But due to internal bleeding, his organs were affected. He'll need at least a month of rest before he can fight again."
"That's good news." Danthe let out a breath of relief.
One after another, the younger witchers of the Wolf School were called up.
Vesemir emerged from a nearby room, shooting Allen and Lysa a teasing glance.
Lysa might not have noticed, but Allen certainly realized: Vesemir had heard everything she said moments ago. The old wolf had clearly been eavesdropping.
After all, Vesemir wasn't an ordinary witcher master like Danthe anymore.
Even if he hadn't been living just next door, with his eighty-four-point sensory skill, he could've clearly heard every word and movement from the far end of the hallway.
"Clay, your timing couldn't be worse…" Vesemir said lightly, patting Clay on the shoulder.
Clay scratched his head, glancing at Allen, then at Lysa as she attentively explained Hughes's condition to Danthe. In his mind, he thought: my timing wasn't bad—it was perfect.
If they let the captain get snatched away while Miss Mary was gone, how would they face her when they returned to Kaer Morhen?
Meanwhile—
Allen, not wanting to say much more, quietly closed the door to his room behind him, concealing the lush, verdant wonder inside.
Only Vesemir and Lysa noticed this and gave it an extra glance. The others didn't seem to detect anything unusual—at most, they simply found the hallway air a bit fresher than before.
Seems like absorbing the Leshen's essence changed the room a fair bit, but didn't release much magical disturbance… Allen thought.
Was that because of the fundamental nature of different elements?
Compared to flame or bloodshed, nature should indeed make less noise.
Or was it because the elements themselves had tiers?
Could it be that the "@#￥%& element" was ranked far higher than the Leshen's?
At that moment—
The last witcher, Fred, stepped out of his room, brow furrowed slightly.
After a few brief words of explanation from Vesemir, the old master said, "Alright, everyone's here. Let's check in on Hughes, and then head to the dining hall for supper."
Everyone gave a short response and began to follow Lysa out.
"Such a shame Hughes couldn't be awake to see Evenson executed."
"You didn't see it either…"
"Yeah, but I wasn't there! Still, it's such a pity. Just thinking of all those conniving bastards, I wish I could kill them myself…"
"No worries, we've still got others to take care of."
-----------------------------------
A few of the young witchers began chattering noisily again, voicing their indignation on behalf of Hughes, Bond, and Fred.
Fred himself responded occasionally, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.
Ever since they returned, he'd felt a strange, inexplicable unease—as if something about him had changed. But even after spending the entire afternoon reflecting on it, he still couldn't put his finger on the cause.
Now he was hesitating. Should he bring it up with Master Danthe or Master Vesemir?
Just then—
He was following behind the group, approaching the entrance near Allen's room.
"Hm?"
Fred suddenly halted mid-step, something stirring faintly in his heart. He turned his head toward the tightly shut door.
"What is it?"
Allen's voice suddenly sounded right beside him.
...
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