The pale violet magical glow faded.
That enchanting body, pressed awkwardly against the narrow oak table by the blade at her throat, was sprawled in a rather compromising position.
Allen's room wasn't large to begin with, and the little round oak table could barely hold a plate and a cup. Now, despite its small size, the visual impact was overwhelming.
One of her hands was propped awkwardly on the corner of the table, now completely occupied by her soft, snow-white curves. The deep brown edge of the wood sank visibly into her skin, leaving faint red marks.
Her other hand instinctively covered her chest, but her generous figure still revealed more than it hid.
A tilted black onyx pendant swayed lightly.
Her long, crossed legs dangled off the side, suspended in midair like intricately carved jade.
In the moonlight, the tips of her flushed toes curled slightly, glowing translucently.
Aside from the black onyx necklace draped across her curves, she wore not a single piece of clothing.
"Do all you sorceresses' polymorph spells not include clothing?" Allen asked.
If he remembered correctly, in both the original books and games, when Philippa Eilhart reverted from her owl form, she was always fully dressed.
Female sorcerers were bold, yes—but rarely did they have such particular kinks.
"Transforming flesh or objects separately is easy," Philippa Eilhart explained calmly—though her trembling voice betrayed her lack of composure. "But combining the two is far more complex. At my current level, I can't yet master both at once."
"But soon—give me half a year—I'll be able to perform the complete transformation…"
Even she felt like she was making excuses, like a child who had lost a game and was desperately trying to save face.
After a pause, her golden-brown eyes sparkled with a strange light.
"Do you like what you see?"
She lowered one hand and looked Allen in the eye, letting her body sway slightly in full view, unabashed.
The black onyx pendant nestled between her curves now resembled a beauty mark at the corner of a seductive gaze—further accentuating her allure.
This aggressively sensual scene made even the lingering scents of roses and bay leaves feel more vivid.
Allen hadn't expected Philippa Eilhart to be this bold. His gaze instinctively lingered on the only thing in the room still moving.
Even his body stiffened slightly.
But while Allen hadn't been married in his past life, he was no stranger to experiences like this. He wasn't about to act like some flustered fourteen-year-old.
Instead, he openly appreciated the view for a while, then offered a sincere evaluation: "Very beautiful."
Philippa, who had just started to rise from the table, froze. She stared blankly at Allen, searching his clear, sapphire eyes—and found no hint of lust.
Allen caught the meaning behind her probing gaze. He sheathed his sword and turned away slightly.
"Relax. I'm not interested in you."
Not interested…?
Philippa Eilhart was so infuriated she laughed.
To a sorceress who valued appearance above nearly all else, nothing could have been more humiliating than this moment.
"I don't recall the School of the Wolf neutering its witchers' emotions. That's more of a Bear School thing, isn't it?"
Abandoning her incantation to summon clothes, she jumped barefoot from the oak table in frustration. She stumbled slightly, nearly tripping over one of the table legs.
"Also…"
"Shouldn't you at least apologize?!"
Her face leaned in close—so close the tip of her delicate, pink nose nearly brushed Allen's cheek. Her hot breath scorched his skin.
The strong scent of rose and laurel leaves overwhelmed every olfactory nerve.
"Why would I apologize?" Allen took a step back instinctively, but his voice didn't yield an inch.
Philippa was at a loss for words.
Yes, why should he apologize?
She was the one who broke into someone else's room, trying to give her future teammate a little test...
If a sword ended up at her throat, it was because she played too many games—right when the witcher at the temple was already in a heightened state of vigilance.
And as for her current state? Wasn't it all because she refused to admit defeat—and then shamelessly tried to seduce a love-struck teenager to gain the psychological upper hand? Except that so-called advantage ended up backfiring spectacularly. It hit hard—but not Allen. It hit her.
Even Allen's "not interested" was a neutral and subjective phrase, not meant to insult. To demand an apology over that would be completely unreasonable.
But still...
Not interested in me???
Philippa Eilhart looked down at the dazzling black obsidian nestled between her snow-white peaks—then glanced up at the innocent face of the young boy before her...
Her entire face flushed crimson, either from anger or embarrassment.
"Apologies for earlier. It was a matter of necessity—I may have acted a bit roughly. The Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization is a formidable entity to our School of the Wolf. I cannot afford to let my guard down."
Since they'd be working together from now on, Allen decided to show some restraint. As long as she understood who was right and wrong, there was no need to drive his teammate to the edge.
"Do you need clothes?" Allen asked gently. "There are a few spare under—"
"No need." Philippa waved her hand, took a deep breath, and muttered a short incantation.
A tight, low-cut hunter's outfit appeared out of thin air on the oak table.
She glanced at Allen, who was just about to turn away out of courtesy.
"No point," she muttered, "what should've been seen—and shouldn't—has already been seen."
Still, Allen wasn't about to stand there and openly watch a lady change.
He stepped back and turned his gaze toward the softly swaying medallion above him.
The sound of fabric brushing against skin echoed softly in the quiet room.
"Done."
Allen turned back. The sorceress was already dressed in a practical hunting outfit—but its design was even bolder than what she wore during the day.
The lace neckline dipped dangerously low, and the red leather clung tightly to her curves, making the black obsidian at her chest stand out even more.
"How did you figure out it was me?"
Despite everything that had just happened, Philippa Eilhart now spoke more calmly than she had that afternoon in the reception hall—almost as if nothing had occurred.
No wonder she would one day be a dominant figure across the Northern Realms. Her ability to adjust her mindset was nothing short of terrifying, Allen thought with admiration.
If it were him, there's no way he could've recovered that fast.
But it also made him even more cautious.
"Your eyes," he said softly. "The owl that Lady Eilhart transformed into had eyes too striking to ignore. No real owl could show eyes like that."
Philippa blinked and instinctively touched her eyes.
"Just the eyes?"
She found it hard to believe. She had been transforming into owls for years now.
On inspection trips across the Northern Kingdoms, she had done it multiple times—and never once had she been exposed.
Could it be that all those skilled sorcerers had poorer spell recognition than a single witcher?
"And of course, some witcher instincts... hard to explain, really..."
Allen's eyes were wide open as he began weaving nonsense—but Philippa listened intently, seemingly eager to use his insights to improve her transformation magic. Then, as she kept listening, her mind slowly became foggy and confused.
Seeing it was the perfect moment, Allen changed the subject.
"So, Lady Eilhart, what brought you to me so late at night?"
Philippa certainly wasn't going to admit she came to test her future partner. Her face remained blank as she replied: "I've already informed the Arch-Mistress. From now on, I'll be accompanying you. Once the timing is right, we'll set off for Ban Ard."
"That's it?"
"Of course not." She adjusted the black obsidian resting on her chest, voice steady. "The Arch-Mistress has already submitted the impeachment proposal against the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization and the Rogrides family. The formal process is underway."
"A decision should come before the upcoming Conclave of Sorcerers."
"Besides, many of the sorcerers the Arch-Mistress reached out to are supporting us. Temeria and the Temple of Melitele will also be stepping in soon. I doubt the result will be unfavorable."
"I figured you'd want to hear the good news as soon as possible, so I came to inform you…"
She didn't mention how she informed him—or why she didn't knock like a normal person and instead chose to sneak in as an owl.
Allen tactfully chose not to bring it up.
Whether Tissaia de Vries had truly submitted the proposal, Philippa Eilhart likely wasn't lying, even under these circumstances.
At most, perhaps Tissaia hadn't submitted it yet, or hadn't actually begun reaching out to like-minded sorcerers. Still, Philippa wasn't wrong—the news did give Allen a bit of relief.
In truth, the most important step in exposing the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization and the Rogrides family's betrayal of the School of the Wolf was to make it public, to stir things up, to ensure everyone knew the full context.
Only then would those parties be forced to tread carefully, wary of backlash.
And of course, only the School of the Wolf, as it stood now, could pull this off. With their current reputation, public opinion across the Northern Realms would likely side with them.
But in the future? When the entire continent viewed witchers as "freaks," "killers," "child thieves," and "mutant monsters forsaken by the gods"? At that point, their infamy would render this strategy useless.
Even now, for the School's name to be used effectively, it still required the support of people like Tissaia de Vries, Ianna, and Duke Mason to amplify the narrative. Otherwise, it could easily backfire.
"Lady Tissaia de Vries is going through official channels too?" Allen asked curiously.
As one of the top five most powerful figures in the Brotherhood of Sorcerers…
The Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization was on a similar level organizationally, and with Ortolan involved, it made sense they'd be hard to deal with.
But the Rogrides family? Even with a mid-level council member and five low-ranking ones, they were top-tier among magical families—but to a legendary sorceress like Tissaia, they were hardly worth mentioning.
Besides, the traditional sphere of influence of Aretuza barely intersected with the Rogrides. Tissaia could easily intervene and pass judgment directly.
That would save time and effort. And since hostility had already been declared, eliminating one opponent early would benefit not just the School of the Wolf—but Tissaia herself.
At the very least, it was safer than dragging things out, giving Lisberg and Rogrides time to prepare and join forces.
"My mentor… the Arch-Mistress is just like that. She values order above all else," Philippa shrugged, clearly not in agreement with Tissaia's approach.
"Luckily, the Conclave of Sorcerers isn't far off. No matter how much the High Council members resist, they'll have to finish the procedure before October and put it to a vote during the gathering."
It was obvious now—there had long been signs of discord between Philippa Eilhart and Tissaia de Vries.
One was fiercely devoted to order—perhaps even rigidly so—willing to sacrifice personal interests for the sake of moral tradition and due process.
The other was bold and ambitious, concerned only with results.
Allen simply nodded in response.
After all, he'd long known about Tissaia's obsession with order. In fact, it was precisely because she held such principles that she was willing to risk personal loss to speak up for the School of the Wolf.
If he accepted the benefits of her support, then he had to accept the consequences too.
One can't have it both ways.
After finishing the "serious business," an awkward silence fell over the small cabin for a few seconds.
Both Philippa Eilhart and Allen seemed to be waiting for the other to bring up the next topic—or perhaps to just end this uncomfortable conversation altogether.
But Philippa had come here in the first place in a burst of jealousy over Tissaia de Vries's "favoritism." In the heat of the moment, she had stormed over without planning what to say next. Now, naturally, she had no idea how to continue.
And Allen, although he had plenty of questions he wanted to ask, recalled the embarrassing moments that had just occurred and found himself lacking the will to bring them up now.
They would have plenty of time to interact in the future—it was better to ask later. So, it seemed it was time to part ways.
But since this was Allen's territory, the only one who could leave was Philippa, the uninvited guest.
And given that Allen had just said he "wasn't interested in Philippa Eilhart," kicking her out now would seem somewhat rude.
He had already achieved tonight's goal—PUA should be applied with moderation; overdoing it would only backfire. So he waited for Philippa to take the initiative to leave.
Philippa also knew that if she waited for Allen to ask her to leave, it would only make the situation more awkward.
Still, perhaps because of the way things had turned out, her pride was bruised, and she instinctively resisted ending the evening on such a note.
And so, the two just stared at each other in silence for quite a while.
"Lady Eilhart, perhaps—"
Just as Allen had carefully chosen his words and was about to break the silence—
The witcher's ears twitched, and he suddenly turned his head.
Tap, tap, tap...
Soft footsteps sounded outside the window.
Allen blinked in surprise. "That's... Lysa?"
"What is she doing here?!"
.....
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