"Is that Kaer Morhen up ahead?"
Philippa Eilhart clutched the mane of the royal griffin, pointing excitedly at the fortress nestled among the surrounding mountains.
The future manipulator of Northern politics—later revered as Martyr Saint—had been thrilled the entire journey.
During the first half, she had been particularly fascinated by "Good Girl" the griffin, groping here and there with such enthusiasm that she almost caused "Good Girl" to throw everyone off her back mid-air.
After being warned, she settled down for a bit, then started asking about "Good Girl"—her feathers, her diet, the level of elemental affinity she exhibited…
She was even curious about the color and texture of the griffin's daily droppings.
Knowing Philippa's ambition and meticulous mind, Allen guessed she was trying to deduce the factors necessary to tame a royal griffin.
Not that he minded. Aside from the secret capture rope of the One-Eye Clan, he told her everything he knew.
And for the things he didn't, he promised to let her observe for a week once the griffin eggs hatched.
If Philippa Eilhart could actually draw meaningful conclusions from those observations, then it was no wonder even Tissaia de Vries had been stunned to learn a royal griffin had been tamed—so stunned that her view of Allen had changed completely.
Of course…
If she really could figure something out, that would be even better.
After the news of the eggs preparing to hatch spread yesterday, the other young witchers had gone wild, each of them desperate to secure a spot in Allen's allocation—almost like doing so would guarantee them a sky-mount as cool as "Good Girl."
But Allen and Vesemir knew the truth—if it were that easy, with so many nobles and mages across the Northern Continent, griffin riders wouldn't just be characters in fiction.
Sure, the chance was higher with "Good Girl's" help, but who knew how many of her chicks could truly be tamed in the absence of another One-Eye Clan rope?
Maybe none of them?
Still, Allen's openness with Philippa made their relationship progress quickly that morning—from "Lady Eilhart" to just "Philippa."
A decent start.
"That's the fortress," Allen said, squinting against the wind as he nodded.
The small grey castle was embedded in the green forest like a tiny cat's-eye gemstone carved into the Blue Mountains. Compared to Drakenborg, Kaer Morhen seemed dainty—"Good Girl" could probably blow it away with a single flap of her wings.
Even the once-daunting Killer's Lake now looked slender and narrow, impossible to compare to the vast, misty Pontar River.
It was hard to believe.
This was the same lake, no wider than a thumbprint from above, that had kept him up with anxiety the night before his Trial of the Mountains.
"Kaer Morhen is under our wings now," Vesemir suddenly said, voice full of meaning.
"Not our wings," Danthe sighed as he looked at Allen. "It's Good Girl's…"
Both witcher masters knew—if not for the griffin's master, the School of the Wolf would have been in serious danger this time.
Looking back on yesterday: Ianna, Tissaia de Vries, Duke Mason…
The reason the Wolf School avoided catastrophe was all because of Allen.
Even so…
Who knew how Chief Sol would react?
Vesemir averted his gaze from Allen and sighed too.
"Don't let Good Girl fly into the castle," he said quietly. "Now's not the time for commotion."
"I know." Allen nodded and issued the command mentally.
"Screee—"
The royal griffin responded softly and descended at the end of the Killer's path.
The Killer's path was Kaer Morhen's natural barrier against intruders—a narrow, winding path filled with traps, enough to make any underprepared invader despair.
It was an unspoken rule, a consensus even: Kaer Morhen was the haven of the School of the Wolf and not a place for outsiders. Members were not to bring unrelated guests.
The main concern was that someone might remember the precise path to the fortress.
Flying over it, though, meant Philippa Eilhart couldn't learn the route—technically a loophole, but one that avoided breaking the rule outright.
Of course…
When Philippa had asked to join the trip yesterday, Allen had asked Vesemir and Danthe first. Only after both masters agreed did he say yes.
With Ban Ard now a lion's den, they couldn't risk letting just Allen and Philippa face it without backup.
To be honest…
The reason the two witcher masters agreed was also because that "unspoken rule" had pretty much lost all its meaning.
After all, the one who broke that rule first was none other than Chief Sol herself. Everyone knew that Lady Vera and her apprentice had free access to Kaer Morhen.
"I wonder if Lady Vera has returned to Kaer Morhen yet…" Allen thought to himself.
Several young witchers had already landed before him and were now cheering excitedly.
"We're finally back!"
In truth, they hadn't been away for long.
But Kaer Morhen was home to the witchers of the School of the Wolf. No matter how short the journey, returning always brought a deep sense of peace.
"Skree~"
Freed of her burden, the royal griffin shook out her wings with delight and gently nuzzled Allen with her beak.
"Good Girl" would now return to focus on hatching her eggs. The next time they would meet wouldn't be until next spring at the earliest.
Allen had considered asking the griffin to move her eggs to Kaer Morhen—perhaps to Old Speartip's cave, or the Elemental Ring—so it would be easier to watch over her and take care of the "mother-to-be."
But "Good Girl" had refused.
Griffin eggs had a low hatching success rate to begin with. The jostling of long-distance travel or the spatial turbulence of a portal could make things even worse. So Allen had to respect her decision.
"Go back and hatch those eggs well," he said, stroking her hard beak, sending his thoughts through their mental link. "If you run into any danger—any threat at all—contact me immediately. I'll come right away."
Thanks to the beast-binding rope of the One-Eye Clan, Allen and "Good Girl" shared a close spiritual bond. They communicated more often than even he did with Vesemir. She had saved his life in the Forest of Passolon, and just days ago, she had flown him to Drakenborg in time to help Danthe, Bond, and Fred avoid death at the hands of vile conspirators…
So even though it hadn't been long since he'd tamed her, Allen had grown deeply attached.
Now, with a long separation ahead, he couldn't help but feel reluctant to part.
"Skree~"
"Good Girl" nuzzled him again affectionately, let out a long cry, and soared into the sky.
"Are you really not going to sell me one of the griffin chicks?"
Philippa Eilhart was even more emotional than Allen. She reluctantly turned her gaze away and followed the witchers toward Kaer Morhen—while launching her thirteenth acquisition request.
"You can fly on your own," Allen sighed. "Why do you need a griffin?"
"It's not the same," Philippa shook her head. "Transfiguration is still transfiguration. Intense movement destabilizes the magical framework of the transformed form. Short-distance flight and gliding are fine, but any farther, and it all collapses."
Seeing Allen intrigued, she continued, "The more skilled you are, the longer the transformation can hold. But no matter how skilled, you'll never move quite like the original creature."
"No exceptions?" Allen asked.
"None…" Philippa began to answer, but then her tone changed mid-sentence. "Actually, druids might be the exception. They seem to have a stable form of transfiguration, one that lets them live like actual beasts."
"But druidic shapeshifting, though it's called the same, is fundamentally different from a mage's spell—different in principle, not just method."
"What's the difference?" Allen's interest grew stronger.
Everything related to druids had recently become a source of deep fascination for Allen.
"Transfiguration, when used by a sorcerer, is just a spell," Philippa Eilhart explained. "It can turn you into a real creature from nature—or even a made-up one, as long as it follows certain magical rules."
"But druidic shapeshifting is different. It's less of a spell and more of a divine gift bestowed by nature itself after communion with it."
"Druids can only transform into real, existing animals, and not just any animal either. Only those beings recognised by druids as 'spirits of nature.'"
"Usually, a druid can transform into only one such 'spirit of nature' in their lifetime. It serves as camouflage, a means of attack, but most importantly, it's a method of cultivation…"
"By mimicking nature, connecting with it, and living in harmony with it, druids gain strength—and shapeshifting is considered the highest form of that cultivation."
"So while camouflage and combat are useful, training and spiritual attunement are the primary purpose of druidic shapeshifting."
Philippa wasn't holding anything back—transfiguration was one of her specialties.
And since they'd soon be facing Ban Ard together, Allen needed to understand the limits of her abilities. That way, he wouldn't make poor decisions based on misunderstanding during critical moments.
Even so, Philippa couldn't help but glance strangely at Allen, clearly puzzled by how intensely curious he was.
"You're a witcher. Why are you so interested in transfiguration?"
"Not to discourage you, but witchers have trouble mastering even the simplest spells. Transfiguration—especially bodily transformation—is one of the most difficult forms of advanced magic."
"A witcher could never learn it."
'That's not necessarily true… 'Allen thought silently.
If he managed to avoid expulsion from the School of the Wolf after seeing Chief Sol, he fully intended to spend his time at Kaer Morhen not just training with Philippa and overseeing the Witxher Corps—but also learning a few practical spells to prepare for the rescue of Hen Gedymdeith.
Stealth and disguise were going to be essential.
In terms of disguise, Allen already had a solid foundation: the Cat School greatsword, the Nightshade armor set, and the Mirage Pearl made him very hard to track. But aside from the greatsword, the others emitted magical energy.
That would be dangerous in Ban Ard, where the area was crawling with mages hypersensitive to spell signatures.
And the Cat School sword alone, even at Level 6, probably wasn't enough to sneak through a mage academy riddled with traps and wards.
Sure, leveling it up again was an option—but it would cost fifty XP pearls, which was expensive. And its priority ranked behind [Beast Roar: Forbidden Sky]. No telling if he'd even gather enough in time, or what the upgrade would actually do.
By comparison, bodily transfiguration—something that left no magical trace—seemed like a better investment.
Plus, shrinking his body would let him pass through tight spaces a human never could.
Allen was seriously tempted.
But after hearing Philippa's explanation, he was now even more interested in druidic shapeshifting.
He had a strong hunch that druidic transformation might be the key to navigating that forest.
"Do you know how druids transform?" Allen asked cautiously.
As expected, Philippa rolled her eyes and gave a flat "No."
"I'm a sorceress, not a druid," she said. "Why would I know how a druid shapeshifts?"
She paused, giving Allen a suspicious look.
"…You're not actually thinking of learning shapeshifting, are you?"
"Technically, anyone—regardless of race or status—who lives in this world and follows the path of nature can become a druid," she added.
"But how far one can go on that path depends not only on devotion, but also on talent."
"As far as I know, there are witchers in the Circle of Druids—but never has a witcher become a druid."
"Witchers can't learn shapeshifting. Not magic-based or nature-based. Period."
Philippa's tone was firm, as if trying to snuff out a dangerous dream before it could grow.
Allen didn't argue. He simply nodded. "Just asking."
Philippa Eilhart opened her mouth, just about to say something—
When suddenly, the group ahead came to a halt.
"Up ahead is Kaer Morhen," Vesemir said, walking back toward them.
Allen looked up.
At the end of the slope, the weathered battlements of the ancient fortress peeked through the treeline, a dark arrow slit barely visible in the stone.
He turned to glance at Philippa Eilhart.
The sorceress gave a shrug and, under everyone's watchful eyes, muttered a few arcane words.
A shimmer of violet magical light flashed—
And a large owl flapped its wings and landed neatly on Allen's shoulder.
But the group's eyes didn't follow the owl.
Instead, they dropped—inevitably—toward the ground.
Men's short jacket, leg wraps, tall boots, black stockings… and a few extremely private articles of clothing lay exposed under the sun.
"Philippa, your clothes…" Allen said helplessly.
The owl tilted its head on his right shoulder and began grooming its feathers.
Philippa Eilhart's playful voice echoed in his mind.
"That's the other downside of transfiguration, my dear partner."
"Now be a dear, pick them up and pack them for me…"
.....
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