Allen didn't believe that Philippa Eilhart was lying.
Casting spells was a precise craft, often accompanied by considerable risk—magical backlash, internal bleeding, even spontaneous combustion…
After a transformation, one's body structure changed—so not being able to cast spells made perfect sense. But he also didn't believe that Philippa was truly helpless and could only rely on him to clean up after her.
Was there always someone like Allen waiting nearby to gather her things every time she shapeshifted?
Or did she just throw away a full set of clothes every time she transformed?
Philippa Eilhart was not yet the future magical advisor offering strategy from the court of Redania. Every outfit a sorceress wore came at a cost, and as a traveling inspector of the Sorcerers' Brotherhood, shapeshifting had to be a regular occurrence. Allen didn't buy that she had no way to recover her clothing.
She was clearly toying with him.
Allen turned to look at the owl perched on his shoulder. It blinked back at him with innocent eyes.
The moment their gazes met, he knew—Philippa was playing dumb to the end.
And unfortunately, even though he suspected she was teasing him, Allen couldn't argue—he didn't understand transfiguration at all.
Besides, picking up some clothes wasn't exactly a huge deal—not something worth making a fuss over.
"Allen?" Vesemir looked at him inquiringly.
Allen could only scowl and, under everyone's gaze, begin gathering the various garments scattered on the ground.
He had miscalculated—getting along with Philippa Eilhart wasn't necessarily a good thing.
"Let's go…" Vesemir and Danthe exchanged a glance, pretending they hadn't seen anything, and urged the slack-jawed young witchers to move on.
Erni and Klar didn't take long to start roughhousing again.
But as they got closer to the old sea fortress, the young witchers began to pick up on something in the expressions of Vesemir, Danthe, and Allen. Their chatter faded to silence.
Until the lookouts on the battlements spotted them.
"The Captain's back—with others!"
"Vidar, quick… open the gate!"
The excited shouts seemed to ignite all of Kaer Morhen at once.
"Is that Andrews?" Fred asked uncertainly.
"It's that rascal!" Erni laughed and nodded. "Looks like it's their turn to guard the gate."
Danthe looked at the shadowy figures on the gate in surprise.
He had returned early to Kaer Morhen before, but back then, he often had to walk all the way to the main hall before seeing another soul.
With good luck, he might bump into a witcher hungover and wandering the halls.
As for alert guards?
Since when did summer Kaer Morhen have such creatures?
Now they were still a hundred steps away, and the fortress was already alert—more vigilant than the capital city of Redania.
What the hell happened to Kaer Morhen?
"They're the trainee recruits of the Witcher Corps," Vesemir said, noticing Danthe's reaction and giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
Danthe frowned, uncertain. "Is this the group Allen mentioned at the meeting before heading down the mountain?"
"That's right," Vesemir nodded. "The Corps has taken over Kaer Morhen's defense. Not bad, right?"
Not bad? Danthe shook his head in disbelief.
This level of alertness—sharper than the royal capital's—being used on Kaer Morhen?
It was like swinging a sword at a fly. Absurd.
What were they guarding against? Drowners crawling out of the moat to go sightseeing in an empty castle?
In summer, the old fortress was even more desolate than the hibernating woods.
But then Danthe remembered the sorcerers from the Rissberg Civil Cooperative and Ban Ard.
His heart sank slightly.
If those warlocks really launched a sudden attack, what use would such defenses be? At best, they might buy a few more minutes before the School of the Wolf was wiped out.
Danthe nodded. "Still, not bad. Allen really put thought into this."
"It wasn't me. I'm just the figurehead Captain," Allen shook his head. "The real credit goes to Aristo and Mary—they're the ones who truly worked hard on it…"
Vesemir didn't refute him. He merely shook his head noncommittally.
Captain… Witcher Corps…
The owl perched on Allen's shoulder—Philippa Eilhart—tilted her head, quietly listening in.
She was just as curious about the strict defenses of the School of the Wolf at this moment.
Of course, no sorcerer could remain indifferent to Kaer Morhen—the cradle of the School of the Wolf witchers, a mysterious bastion where the knightly code of the Northern Continent was truly upheld.
But usually that curiosity was just the typical intrigue one might have toward an unexplored landmark—akin to wondering about the distant Skellige Isles beyond the Sedna Abyss.
Yet now, Philippa Eilhart found herself feeling something far deeper—a real sense of intrigue and excitement.
Before arriving at Kaer Morhen, she had researched quite a bit and was fairly certain that there had never been mention of any organization called the Witcher Corps in all of the School of the Wolf's history.
So…
The Witcher Corps—when did the School establish something like this?
And "Corps," no less?
Witchers were notoriously few in number—how could they possibly support a corps?
Why was Allen the Captain? Wasn't he only just made a witcher and a master this very year?
And more importantly…
What was the School of the Wolf planning—building such an overtly aggressive-sounding organization in secret, hidden from the rest of the Northern Continent's powers?
Allen had no idea what Philippa was wildly imagining, but even if he did, he wouldn't have cared.
If he dared to bring her back to Kaer Morhen, then he had no intention of hiding the existence of the Witcher Corps in the first place.
At present, the School of the Wolf and Aretuza, because of the Rissberg Civil Cooperative and the Rogrides, had already started forming a tentative alliance.
In these times—marked by war, rampant monsters, and the looming threat of the Wild Hunt—Tissaia de Vries, that ever-order-minded sorceress, would only be pleased to learn of the Witcher Corps' existence. It represented a strengthening of the forces of order.
Witchers, due to their historically high mortality rate during the Trial of the Grasses, had always had even less influence over Northern politics than the sorcerers did.
They were arguably the safest faction one could ally with.
Of course…
The secrets of the refined drowner heart elixir, and the zero-death rate of the new Trial of the Grasses, still had to remain hidden for now.
"Clank~ Clank~"
The groan of heavy chains echoed as the drawbridge began to lower.
Even before Allen and the others reached it, the bridge had already been laid down across the moat.
From within the fortress, a great tide of movement surged forward—a crowd, to be precise, of leather-armored, dual-sword-bearing witcher apprentices.
Compared to Allen and Fred's group who had passed the High Mountain Trial, Erni, Klar, and the others could still be considered teenagers. But the batch of chattering, excited apprentices rushing toward them now—no matter how you looked at them, they were just children.
In no time, the returning group was completely surrounded.
Vesemir and Danthe were mostly left alone—no one dared to block their path.
As for Allen, being the Captain, the regular witcher apprentices of the School of the Wolf didn't stop him either. At most, they just stared fixedly at the owl perched on his shoulder—Philippa Eilhart in disguise.
But Erni, Klar, and Clay were truly swarmed, each of them beset by at least three apprentices eager to ask about their experiences down the mountain.
Spencer, being the youngest, had four or five kids surrounding him.
"Spencer! Spencer! Did you guys hunt monsters this time down the mountain?"
"Of course!" Spencer proudly lifted his chin.
One apprentice, clearly skeptical, teased maliciously, "Don't tell me they were all just drowners?"
"No way!" Spencer immediately denied it, then began listing off monsters like he was naming dishes. "Drowners, ghouls, rotfiends—we even teamed up to kill a few alghouls..."
"Alghouls?!" A stir swept through the apprentice crowd. They all turned to stare at Spencer. "Isn't that one of the larger necrophages?!"
"Alghouls are nothing," Spencer grinned smugly. "We also encountered a scurver—its thigh was thicker than a full-grown oak trunk—and a leshen! You've heard of leshens, right? The ones they call forest demigods…"
"LESHEEEN!!!" The crowd roared.
Even though they hadn't yet passed the High Mountain Trial, every witcher apprentice had heard of leshens.
You didn't even need to flip through heavy monster tomes. There were countless myths about antlered forest spirits across the Northern Continent.
Many of the kids had been familiar with the creature even before being brought to Kaer Morhen.
Leshens were among the Northern Continent's most powerful large monsters—said to be undying within the heart of the forest.
Everyone immediately began clamoring for more details.
Of course, some remained doubtful: "You really killed alghouls? Wasn't it just the Captain, or Master Vesemir or Danthe who did it while you stood and watched?"
"We killed them ourselves!" Spencer and the others—Erni, Klar—immediately flushed with indignation and started arguing back. "If you don't believe us, ask the Captain and Master Vesemir!"
Allen and Vesemir exchanged a look, then nodded in agreement: "Spencer and the others did, in fact, take down several alghouls together."
"What!!"
A collective gasp rang out among the apprentices.
"Heh~" Spencer crossed his arms, raising his chin proudly. "Alghouls? Please."
"Hiding behind foot soldiers? Weakest of the big monsters. We handled it ourselves—no need to bother the Captain or Master Vesemir."
"They had much more dangerous opponents..."
Spencer trailed off, deliberately pausing like he was about to drop a bombshell.
"Come on, tell us! What kind of opponents?!"
The apprentices, stirred by his words, were practically squirming with anticipation.
Spencer exchanged a glance with Ice, raised an eyebrow, and said dramatically, "That's right. The scurver and leshen were the ones the Captain and Master Vesemir took down…"
Just as the apprentices were about to erupt in another round of amazement—
Spencer lifted a finger and wagged it. "You think that's all?"
They froze.
You've only been gone for two or three months. alghouls, scurvers, leshens—that wasn't enough?
What next, did the Captain and Master Vesemir slay a legendary dragon?
"An evil god!" Spencer deliberately lowered his voice. "The Captain and Master Vesemir drove out an evil god!"
This time, the witcher apprentices didn't exclaim.
Perhaps the news was too shocking—there was a strange silence for several seconds in front of Kaer Morhen's gates. Even the sound of everyone's breathing seemed unnaturally clear.
"R-really?" someone asked hesitantly.
"You're doubting me?" Spencer frowned, clearly unhappy with their reaction. "There are still stories spreading in Ellander about how the Captain banished the evil god…"
"That's a bit exaggerated," Allen had to speak up and correct him. "Without Vesemir, the sorceresses from Aretuza, the priests from the Temple of Melitele, and Duke Mason's army from Ellander, there's no way the evil god could've been banished so smoothly."
"How is that exaggerated?" Spencer shook his head. "Every day the cheers for the 'Godslayer' echo through the Mahakam Mountains. In taverns, people raise their mugs and toast 'to the longsword of the Godslayer!' And bards—someone told me that one of them even wrote a sequel to Death Knight from the North—it's called, it's called…"
"Klar, what was the title of that new ballad?"
Spencer turned to look at Klar.
Caught off guard by everyone suddenly staring at him, the young witcher blanked for a second before blurting instinctively, "The Griffin Knight Who Slew the Evil God."
"That's right! The Griffin Knight Who Slew the Evil God!" Spencer nodded eagerly.
But before the apprentices could respond, Vesemir interjected.
"Why did you ask Klar?" Vesemir asked curiously. "I don't recall giving any of you permission to leave Kaer Morhen on your own, much less to visit taverns. So how did Klar hear about this song?"
Spencer gave a sly grin and said meaningfully, "It's true we haven't been to any taverns… but someone Klar knows has—"
"Spencer!" Klar interrupted furiously.
Luckily, the apprentices didn't care about Klar's "source."
They hadn't even noticed the mention of the griffin in the ballad's title, assuming it referred to that big griffin they had slain earlier.
"So… the Captain really banished an evil god?!!"
Countless excited and emotional gazes instantly locked onto Allen's face. The apprentices erupted into a thunderous cheer, even louder than before, as if it could shatter the clouds overhead.
An evil god!
That was an evil god!
To banish such a being was a feat reserved only for the heroes of epic tales!
And now—
That hero they had heard about since childhood was standing right in front of them.
Alive!
A living legend!
If these apprentices were already part of the Witcher Corps, their loyalty would've instantly skyrocketed.
In truth, that was exactly why Allen had allowed Spencer to tell his tale.
The Witcher Corps had fifteen new slots opening up. The more loyal the new members were, the better. Besides, he was still looking forward to the reward for the next full loyalty entry…
With that in mind, Allen was about to take advantage of the crowd blocking the path to open his Witcher log and check Klar and the others' loyalty levels when—
"What's with all the shouting?" came Aristo's sharp voice from his side.
At the same moment—
A soft fragrance of chamomile and cedar drifted through the air.
Huh?
"That scent… Francesca?!"
Allen sniffed the air and abruptly looked up.
.....
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