She wore a lace-trimmed dress in grayish-green and followed behind Aristo, stepping out from the shadow of the gate with light, graceful steps.
Her long, dark-golden hair flowed freely down her shoulders, catching the sunlight in a shimmering cascade—natural yet noble.
Flanking her were two female attendants in silver armor adorned with golden patterns, armed with elven sabers at their waists and shortbows on their backs. Their eyes remained sharp and alert.
A far cry from the clumsy girl in dark sneaking gear or coarse gray linen dresses that he remembered, Francesca Findabair now looked like a true princess.
Well...
At least she was disguised like a princess.
As soon as she stepped beyond the gate, her elegant, noble aura faltered the moment her deer-like blue eyes spotted him. They lit up with excitement.
Her arms lifted slightly, but the graceful façade shattered instantly. She now resembled a mischievous young doe caught under a caretaker's watchful eye.
She seemed like she wanted to greet Allen.
But when her gaze drifted toward the guards on either side, her hands hesitated in midair—then dropped quickly. Instead, she blinked and gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.
Allen returned the nod and turned his gaze to his vice-commander.
Aristo's authority among the witcher apprentices was unmatched. Not Vesemir's, not Danthe's, and certainly not Allen's—who was barely around despite being commander—could compare.
After a single sharp reprimand, the excited chatter died instantly. The apprentices stepped aside, forming a path.
Aristo waved his hand to the apprentices, signaling them to return to their posts instead of crowding around and causing disorder.
With audible sighs and reluctant muttering, the students began to disperse.
"Vesemir, Allen… huh?" Aristo's eyes passed over Vesemir and Allen and paused when they landed on Danthe. "Danthe? Weren't you supposed to be traveling with three apprentices? Why did you come back with them?"
It wasn't strange for Vesemir and Allen to return—after all, their departure had been unplanned. But witchers who went out to train apprentices never returned during summer, especially not in the first year.
"I had a bad fall… nearly didn't make it back," Danthe sighed, his face tinged with melancholy.
"A bad fall…" Aristo raised an eyebrow, intrigued, but before he could ask—
"Don't ask now. I'll explain when there's time," Danthe waved him off.
Scratching his head, Aristo turned to the other two witcher masters.
"Vesemir, Allen—everything outside settled?"
Seeing them clearly pleased him. He gave each a firm clap on the shoulder.
"Yeah," Vesemir nodded. "Houghton Qui-Gon was fine. That dwarf had just issued a contract on someone's behalf."
"But the outcome was good."
He gave Allen's leather armor a few pats, smiling.
Since its creation only a few months ago, Allen's Grandmaster Wolven armor set had already endured plenty. While it wasn't pristine anymore, it didn't look worn out either—just slightly scuffed, nothing needing a trip to the forge.
And this was without any sorcerer enchantments yet.
Then again, Houghton Qui-Gon was a top-tier dwarven smith, and the materials he used were exceptional.
Otherwise, considering the fights against the Great Griffin, Scurvers, hordes of Alghouls, evil gods, and Leshens, any ordinary armor would've needed major repairs—or replacement by now.
Vesemir's own Grandmaster set had already been sent to Duke Mason's smiths for repairs several times recently.
That's the difference premium materials make. No matter how rare wyvern hide is, it's still no match for dragon leather—even unenchanted dragon leather.
Of course…
When Allen's armor eventually did need repairs, the cost would be several times higher than Vesemir's.
But it would be worth it. Without this new armor, he'd have been seriously injured—if not worse—back in the Forest of Passolon, ambushed by the Wild Hunt and the sorcerers of Ban Ard. Not to mention the battle during the evil god's descent.
Armor might not rack up kills like a longsword in combat, but when it counted—it really could save your life.
And for Allen, now? The cost of repairs barely mattered at all.
Aristo's smile faded.
A normal contract wouldn't come with threats to one's life. Clearly, the one issued by the dwarven master smith from Vergen was no ordinary job—most likely, it couldn't be separated from the war between Aedirn and Kaedwen.
Still, with so many ears around, Aristo didn't plan to ask further. He was just about to change the subject when—
"Huh?"
His gaze landed on Allen's deep crimson leather armor, and his expression suddenly shifted, eyes filled with suspicion and surprise.
"This texture… Is that dragonhide?!" he exclaimed, rubbing at the leather, uncertain and amazed.
"Red dragon hide," Vesemir replied with a smile.
"Houghton Qui-Gon… why would he…" Aristo trailed off.
From the feel of the leather, and upon closer inspection, he noticed that the thread connecting the dimeritium plates and dragonhide wasn't ordinary either—it was silk from a venomous spider queen.
Given the time passed, it was obvious that this Wolf School Grandmaster set hadn't been commissioned by Vesemir or Allen. Houghton Qui-Gon wouldn't just upgrade the materials on a whim.
There was only one possible explanation…
Whoever had issued that contract had made the decision without consulting them.
Could it be that Vesemir and Allen had already been drawn into the war between the two kingdoms?
After hundreds of years of friendship, Vesemir could easily guess what Aristo was thinking.
"We didn't take the contract," Vesemir said, shaking his head.
While they hadn't formally accepted it, their involvement in the Aedirn–Kaedwen conflict wasn't small. Subduing the Royal Griffin had been their most significant "contribution," and everything had been truthfully detailed in the letter sent back to the Chief, Sol.
Of course, the background behind Houghton Qui-Gon's job was included as well.
But judging from Aristo's reaction, it seemed Sol hadn't told him anything.
He looked like he didn't even know Kaedwen had fallen.
Not sure what the Chief was thinking, Vesemir paused briefly and said, "It's complicated. We'll talk about it later."
Aristo nodded slightly and changed the subject. "So, have you arranged the enchanter? Who are you planning to ask?"
"Lady Tissaia de Vries has agreed to enchant the armor," Allen replied softly.
And not as originally planned—after they visited Aretuza—but before the rescue mission for Hen Gedymdeith even began. Tissaia would make time to enchant his Grandmaster set.
The reason they hadn't done it at the Melitele Temple was that the materials required for enchanting dragonhide weren't ready.
Even a sorceress as influential as Tissaia de Vries needed time to gather such rare components.
"Tissaia de Vries?" Aristo blinked, uncertain. "You mean… that sorceress?"
"The very same one you're thinking of…" Vesemir nodded with a smile, then deliberately raised his voice slightly as his eyes shifted toward the approaching elves. "Tissaia de Vries, Headmistress of Aretuza, and the only female mage in Chapter of the Gift and the Art…"
"Sounds like your journey after leaving Kaer Morhen was quite the adventure…" Aristo raised a brow, clearly picking up on Vesemir's hint.
"Eventful indeed," Vesemir clicked his tongue. "One day, you'll bring your Eastern Reserve, and I'll tell you the whole story over drinks. But from the look of things, your time at Kaer Morhen hasn't been too dull either."
His eyes slid past Aristo. "Aren't you going to introduce our guest?"
Aristo opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word—
Francesca Findabair, who had deliberately kept her distance to allow them a moment, now walked over elegantly with her two elven attendants, her dress fluttering softly in the breeze.
"We of the Wolf School are hardly strangers anymore," she said with a gentle nod toward Vesemir, then turned her head toward the young witcher nearby. She took a deep breath and spoke: "Allen, it's been a while."
Francesca Findabair's voice was as clear as ever—like a mountain spring trickling through the forest, bright and crystalline.
For a moment, Allen was stunned.
That familiar voice, that familiar face—it felt like he had been transported back half a year in time.
To the abandoned mine, to the clumsy elf, to the illusory village…
Though his first encounters with Francesca Findabair were far from pleasant—leaving him with a lasting sense of distrust toward female mages—especially those he was paired with.
Yet, without Francesca's care in that illusory orchard, the cold and cautious elf Shadia, who had abandoned her husband and child, likely wouldn't have saved him while he lay unconscious.
Even if it was Francesca herself who had caused his collapse in the first place, he couldn't deny that the two of them had gone through thick and thin together. And truthfully… after he awoke, they had worked together surprisingly well.
Besides…
In the abandoned mine of Viscount Hudson, when he subdued the stone giants…
In Aedirn, when Erni and Klar were captured and he ambushed Vilgefortz…
In Passolon Forest, when he stirred conflict between the Wild Hunt and the warlocks and took advantage of the chaos…
That parting gift from Francesca Findabair—the cloak "Nightshade" that concealed him in darkness—had helped him through more than one crisis.
Perhaps that was why…
Though he had expected to resent this reunion, Allen actually felt a subtle joy in seeing an old companion again.
"It really has been a long time," he replied politely, nodding in greeting. Then he turned toward Vesemir and the others and made introductions.
"Vesemir, this is Francesca Findabair. I've mentioned her before—she helped me before the dueling tournament between the Wolf and Cat School apprentices."
"Oh no, no!" Francesca quickly waved her hands, her eyes sparkling. "I was the one being helped. I was such a burden the whole time…"
The two of them went back and forth, humbly deflecting praise from each other, while Vesemir, Aristo, and Danthe exchanged glances, clearly trying to make sense of it all.
Not far away, Erni and Klar stood quietly, also communicating silently with their eyes.
They could already feel the headache building—for the Wolf School's chief mage, Lady Margarita Laux-Antille.
They had just seen off a priestess, and now here came an elf?
And not just any elf—Francesca Findabair was by far the most beautiful woman they had ever seen, a living embodiment of the goddess of beauty.
Unlike Lysa, Francesca had actually followed Allen all the way to Kaer Morhen…
Wait!
That wasn't even all.
The young witchers' eyes drifted to the owl perched on Allen's shoulder, its head constantly turning and observing.
There was also a sorceress openly spying on them from the shadows!
The young witchers exchanged desperate looks.
So many rivals, and so strong—how were they supposed to help Miss Mary?
They were utterly at a loss.
At that moment, the owl seemed to feel the burning stares from behind. Though its body didn't move, its small head suddenly twisted 180 degrees.
Its sharp gaze swept across the young witchers plotting in silence, sending a chill down their spines as they quickly looked away.
Only after the owl turned its head back did the young witchers dare to meet each other's eyes again.
Loyalty!
-----------------------------------
On the other side, Francesca Findabair and Allen were still happily engaged in conversation, completely unaware of the secret scheming going on in the minds of the young witchers.
In the course of their chat, Allen learned the true reason behind the arrival of the Aen Seidhe.
They had come in response to a promise made half a year ago between Allen and Shadia—an agreement that, should a final battle to defend Kaer Morhen arise, the Aen Seidhe would send aid to help the Wolf School repel the attack. That attack was expected to come from the mobs of the original tale, backed by the king, nobles of Kaedwen, and the warlocks of Ban Ard.
But now…
Things had changed dramatically.
The primary conspirator who had plotted the downfall of the Wolf School, Henselt, had already died six months ago in Ban Ard—crushed beneath the backside of the Drowner King. By now, his flesh had likely long decomposed, and only his bones remained in his coffin.
Kaedwen itself was on the brink of collapse. Even if Henselt's descendants knew Allen had killed him, they'd have no energy left for revenge.
And compared to Aedirn, the grudge over Henselt's death was further down the list of priorities.
As for Ban Ard, they were now mired in public scandal, accused of regicide. They had since been plagued by Wild Hunt attacks. At worst, their retaliation had amounted to Vilgefortz's ambush.
So...
Had the threat that once led Allen to seek help from the Aen Seidhe already vanished? Was their arrival now unnecessary?
Not quite.
Let's not forget—the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization hadn't yet made their move, but it was only a matter of time before they turned openly hostile toward the Wolf School.
Even though Tissaia de Vries had been lobbying within the Brotherhood on their behalf, her efforts merely delayed collective enmity from the mages. They wouldn't stop the Consortium from seeking revenge.
And given the character of male warlocks, vengeance was inevitable.
It was foreseeable that Kaer Morhen would be under long-term threat from the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization.
And that wasn't all...
If Sunny succeeded in building a mage kingdom centered around Ban Ard, there was no way they would leave the Wolf School alone.
For the Wolf School, then, every ounce of strength mattered now more than ever.
The aid of the Aen Seidhe had come at exactly the right time!
"By the way, Allen…"
As Allen walked behind the others toward the castle hall, Francesca's voice suddenly broke through his thoughts.
"The pact between the Aen Seidhe and the Wolf School still requires signing by Grandmaster Sol, but we…"
Francesca hesitated, her expression troubled.
"To this day, we haven't even seen him?"
......
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