The owl perched before him had dusky brown feathers, and its golden-brown eyes gleamed in the dark.
After locking eyes with Allen for a few seconds upon his leap into the room, the bird fearlessly flapped its wings and landed right on the oak table, comfortably taking up most of the small, round surface with its round, fluffy body.
Allen glanced at the bold little creature, then down at the wolf medallion on his chest, which remained still.
After all, the Temple of Melitele was located deep in the mountains, and the witchers' quarters were on the ground floor. It wasn't unusual for small animals to occasionally wander in.
It was common enough to wake up and see birds on the windowsill, ants moving house in the corners, squirrels begging for food, or spiders weaving their webs…
Nature had its charms.
He had never seen an owl here before, but owls were nocturnal by nature. Mahakam lay beyond the rear mountain, so it wasn't that unusual.
Rare, but not unreasonable.
Still, those golden-brown, bright eyes…
Allen was certain. This seemingly clueless owl staring back at him was none other than Philippa Eilhart, the student of Tissaia de Vries, a sorceress of the Brotherhood, and his future partner.
"A remarkable mastery of polymorph magic." Allen praised silently.
Had he not already known that Philippa specialized in transformation magic—and seen both novels and games from his past life showing her taking owl form to travel and gather intelligence—he would never have guessed it.
The feathers, mannerisms, and movement were all perfectly normal owl behavior. Not a hint of magical fluctuation, not even a trace. She'd even managed to imitate a dazed and confused expression.
Of course…
Even if someone didn't know all this about her, there was always one way to be sure when encountering an unknown creature:
Use Identify.
[Name: Philippa Eilhart]
[Attributes: Strength 13, Agility 21, Constitution 19, Perception 84, Arcane 147]
As expected, it was Philippa Eilhart.
Not surprising, really. As Tissaia de Vries's prized pupil, she easily outclassed the average sorceress in every stat.
Allen thought for a moment and pulled up another panel.
[Name: Margarita Laux-Antille]
[Attributes: Strength 11, Agility 9, Constitution 12, Perception 76, Arcane 81]
Philippa's stats were clearly superior to Margarita's across the board—almost a total curb-stomp. But that didn't necessarily mean Margarita was less talented.
She was only sixteen, while Philippa had already graduated from Aretuza and had been working with the Brotherhood for some time now.
Allen didn't know her exact age, but she was certainly over twenty.
The early years were the fastest for attribute growth—for witchers, sorcerers, even ordinary people. Every year made a big difference. Once you reached adulthood, progress slowed down significantly. So, Margarita would catch up to Philippa before long.
But with stats like those and that incredible shape-shifting magic, as long as she had enough combat experience, Philippa likely wouldn't be a liability during the Hen Gedymdeith rescue mission.
That gave Allen a good deal of reassurance.
Now that her identity was confirmed, one question remained.
Why was she here?
This late at night?
To see him?
He eyed Philippa—still fussing with her feathers, still playing the part of an innocent owl.
First of all, romantic interest was out of the question.
Sure, Allen had a fair amount of confidence in his looks, and it was said that witchers often had a kind of physiological allure to sorceresses. But at the end of the day, he was still just a fourteen-year-old boy, even if he seemed mature.
Besides, Philippa Eilhart's type was more… Sigismund Dijkstra.
(Yes, that Sigismund Dijkstra—the future head of Redania's intelligence service in The Witcher 3.)
The original books described him thus: "When he folded his arms across his chest—a gesture he was fond of—he looked like two sperm whales bowing before a giant."
"As for his facial features, hair, and skin tone… he looked more like a freshly scrubbed pig."
Of course, maybe Sigismund had been a handsome man in his youth.
But sorceresses were always known to grow tired of the old and yearn for the new. And because they were long-lived, they tended to be particularly open in matters of intimacy.
That aside…
Considering Philippa Eilhart's future status—even within Redania—she would not be beneath Sigismund Dijkstra, let alone on the entire Northern Continent. So if Philippa truly had feelings for Sigismund Dijkstra, it was real love.
Of course, love was love. The betrayals and complicated entanglements between them were a whole other story.
But since this wasn't love at first sight—or a random hookup—
And considering that she remained in owl form, unwilling to show herself openly…
The number of likely reasons for her visit dwindled.
Could it be that Tissaia de Vries had a non-urgent message to deliver?
Or perhaps Philippa wanted to establish dominance before their partnership began?
The latter seemed more likely.
Of course, it could be both.
But… he wanted to assert dominance too.
So if this was about setting the tone…
Allen, who had been about to directly expose Philippa Eilhart's disguise, paused and decided to play along instead. He feigned ignorance, pretending not to have seen through her transformation, and quietly approached.
Meanwhile—
Philippa Eilhart, still disguised as an owl, was unaware that she had already been exposed.
When she saw Allen's expression, she secretly rejoiced.
"He fell for it!"
But on the surface, she remained in character—just as a real owl would react to an unfamiliar creature.
Her beak, which had been grooming her soft tail feathers, paused. She tilted her head warily at the approaching figure, spread her wings slightly, and doubled her size.
A show of vigilance and intimidation.
"Easy, little one," Allen halted and gently soothed her. "I mean no harm."
To be fair, choosing an owl as a polymorph form was a clever decision.
Owls, in the Northern Continent, symbolized wisdom, life and death, loyalty, and nature. In many religions within the world of witchers, they were regarded as divine messengers.
Melitele was one of those deities. Owls in fields were omens of good harvest.
Thus, traveling and spying in owl form was practical—not only was the form small, fast, and inconspicuous, but its symbolism also offered safety from mischief by children or hungry peasants.
"A brat who hasn't even grown all his hair, can't tell polymorph magic apart, and dares to think he can wrest control from me..."
Philippa Eilhart withdrew her defensive posture and grew smug.
Earlier that afternoon, when she reported Allen's decision to the arch-mistress, Tissaia de Vries had actually told her to follow his lead on the mission ahead?!!
Philippa could hardly stomach the insult.
The rumors were outrageous: slaying gods? Fighting off hundreds of wraiths solo? Taming a royal griffin? An alchemy prodigy…?
But come on—she had been with the Brotherhood for years. She knew how these stories always got exaggerated.
And the way Tissaia kept going on: "Allen is the most promising witcher I've ever seen."
"His strength is remarkable."
"You can't treat him like a normal witcher."
"He'll be a cornerstone of the future Order."
She had never heard Tissaia praise anyone like that. Still, Philippa wasn't some petty girl competing for attention. Quite the opposite—she was glad.
Because rescuing Hen Gedymdeith from the heavily guarded Ban Ard? Yeah, she wasn't feeling overly confident. The stronger her teammate, the better.
But for the arch-mistress to expect her to follow the lead of a fourteen-year-old?
That was a bit much.
It had awakened her rebellious side.
She had to see for herself—what kind of witcher could earn such praise from the most powerful sorceress on the Northern Continent?
And now? He didn't even sense her disguise. Not a hint of wariness.
Philippa Eilhart shook her head internally.
If he was really this naïve, there was no way she would follow his lead.
That would be disrespecting her own life.
Rustle~
After Allen's soft coaxing, the "owl" seemed to sense his goodwill and slowly retracted its warning stance. Allen stepped forward a bit more.
As he approached the oak table, the "owl" grew "alert" again. Its golden-brown eyes blinked as it spread its wings, preparing to take off.
Philippa Eilhart was thinking to herself, "Since even the arch-mistress praises him like that, and the Temple of Melitele wants to name him their Holy Son, then Allen must not only have some real ability—he must also think quite highly of himself."
"To preserve autonomy, and ensure safety for both of us during the mission… it's time for phase two—"
But before the thought even finished—
In a flash of lightning and steel, Philippa suddenly felt her vision blur and a sharp pain in both wings.
Allen's left hand had shot forward like thunder, seizing both of the owl's wings at their base.
A glint of cold steel followed.
A dagger appeared out of nowhere, pressed tightly against the owl's neck. The blade pierced through the downy feathers and pressed against skin.
The owl froze instantly, not daring to move.
"What just happened?"
The chill of the blade and the cold gleam of death snapped Philippa back to her senses. A shiver ran through her body.
Instinctively, she raised her head—and met those piercing, sapphire cat-eyes.
In that instant—
The killing intent that surged into her mind made her teeth chatter. Her entire body went numb.
"How many beings has he killed to possess killing intent this overwhelming?!"
It was the only thought echoing in her mind.
"Who are you?" Allen asked coldly. "Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization? Or one of Ban Ard's warlocks?"
"Why did you disguise yourself as an owl and sneak into my room?"
"What's your goal?"
Philippa could hardly believe it.
This icy, razor-sharp witcher—was the same warm, polite young man she had just spoken with in the temple hall?
Even worse, although she had been a bit careless… she hadn't even seen him move. That meant even if she tried again, the outcome would be the same: instant defeat.
So what now?
Should she reveal her identity… under such circumstances?
Wait!
Illusion! She still had illusion magic!
Philippa tried to summon her magic to cast an illusion—replacing herself with a phantom owl.
"Bzzzt~"
The wolf medallion on Allen's chest suddenly buzzed.
"Hmm?" Allen grunted.
With a cold snort, the blade pressed even deeper. The dagger sliced through the protective barrier around her throat.
Philippa didn't dare move a muscle. Her head lifted, neck exposed—she didn't even dare breathe.
"Philippa Eilhart!" she blurted. "I'm Philippa Eilhart!"
"We met earlier—just today!"
The threat of death shattered all of Philippa's pride. She spoke quickly, revealing her identity.
Feeling the trembling in his palm, Allen raised an eyebrow, loosening the dagger slightly—but still keeping it pressed to her neck.
"Philippa Eilhart? Prove it."
The sorceress was sharp. In the blink of an eye, she described the judgment earlier today, and recounted Tissaia de Vries' invitation in detail.
Allen withdrew the dagger completely, and Philippa finally let out a breath, preparing to grumble a bit—
"Clang!"
A flash of silver.
The dagger that had been nestled in her neck feathers morphed in an instant into a finely engraved silver sword, inscribed with ancient runes.
The threat it posed far surpassed the dagger.
Philippa's breath hitched again, her heart skipping. Her scalp tingled from fear.
Then she felt her wings being gently released.
"Change back," Allen said. His tone had softened, but remained cautious. "I know powerful sorcerers can read minds."
"The warlock I killed was named Ronnie Dickinson."
"If Rissberg sent someone else, pulling that knowledge from a sorceress's mind wouldn't be hard."
As a transmigrator from the Eastern University, Allen had absorbed quite a bit of "PUA" psychology and manipulation tactics.
He intended to assert dominance in the coming partnership. There was no way he'd let this little stunt pass so easily.
The deeper the impression he left on Philippa Eilhart now, the more cooperative she'd be in the future. If he waited until a crisis to "adjust" like with Francesca… it would be far too late.
Ban Ard didn't have the kindhearted stone trolls or elven mothers with children—there, everyone was a clearly defined enemy.
At that moment, Philippa Eilhart felt a wave of regret.
"Ronnie Dickinson… I actually forgot he killed Ronnie Dickinson..."
"A man who, no matter the means, managed to kill a member of the High Council and a leading candidate for its chair—how could he possibly be fooled by a simple polymorph spell?"
Though she chastised herself in her heart, Philippa knew the truth.
She hadn't really forgotten that Ronnie Dickinson had been killed by Allen.
She just didn't want to accept it—that this person, standing before her, younger than herself and still a mere fourteen-year-old boy, was truly a witcher… and the one who had slain Ronnie Dickinson.
Allen's vigilance was entirely justified. What he said—his suspicions—were completely plausible. Still, for reasons of her own, Philippa tried to defend herself.
"I—"
But just as she uttered a single word, the silver sword in Allen's hand gave a slight tremor—whether intentional or not.
Startled, the owl's gray-brown feathers puffed out in alarm.
Philippa dared not hesitate any longer.
"Bzzzt~"
The wolf medallion buzzed again.
A violet halo burst forth from her wings, carrying with it the delicate scent of roses and bay leaves. The magical aura rippled outward in gentle waves.
The small raptor, no bigger than a clenched adult fist, began to shift atop the oak table—gradually taking human shape.
As the magic finally calmed and settled, Allen still hadn't lowered Elsa—his sword.
Not because he still meant to press the advantage—
But because… he hadn't expected this.
"Do all you sorceresses' polymorph spells… not change your clothes?"
Allen paused for a moment longer, then asked, puzzled.
....
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