Everyone's gaze fell on Vera.
She was silent for a few seconds before turning slightly and giving an order: "Mary, take Lady Ida Emean to the alchemy lab. You know where to find the materials."
"Yes, Mentor."
Mary cast a reluctant glance at Allen, then respectfully led Ida Emean out of the castle hall.
"Allen, come with me."
Vera nodded at Allen and turned to ascend the stairs that led to the upper floors of the castle.
Allen glanced at Vesemir, Danthe, and Aristo, then silently followed.
Thud~ Thud~ Thud~
Their heavy footsteps echoed through the hollow corridor.
In the stone corridors connecting the castle floors, even the sweltering summer couldn't dispel the chill and dampness.
He had thought Vera wanted him to follow her just to find a quiet, secluded spot to discuss the matter of the Chief.
But unexpectedly, even after they entered an empty corridor and shut the door behind them, Vera did not stop. Known for her fondness of teleportation, the sorceress now patiently climbed the stairs with him step by step.
"You use the Yrden Sign well. Few witchers can cultivate the Yrden Sign to your level."
Vera didn't bring up the Chief the moment they were alone.
Allen didn't know what she wanted to say, so he could only respond humbly: "Just some simple applications. It's nothing compared to real spells."
"What suits you is what's best," Vera shook her head. "Ordinary spells may have more practical and powerful applications, but for witchers, signs are far more suitable as supportive tools."
"Many believe Alzur was merely a master of genetic modification, but in fact, he was a genuine genius in destructive elemental magic."
"His Lightning spell structure is a marvel of magical aesthetics…"
"Improving spells isn't easy. The academic status of signs has long been underestimated…"
Allen replied occasionally. The topic shifted from sign mastery to the overall development of the witcher system.
Vera's explanations were vivid and detailed.
The direction and positioning of the Witcher Corps had always been something Allen often pondered.
Vera's words provided him with a lot of theoretical inspiration.
At any other time, he would have gladly sat through a full day of Vera's lectures in the alchemy lab, even willing to pay for the knowledge. But now, Allen was feeling increasingly uneasy.
Just what had happened to the Chief that required such buildup from Vera?
Though he'd always harbored some radical thoughts, the School of the Wolf couldn't afford to lose its cornerstone—the Chief—right now.
If the Chief were gone, then even before Allen could finish his achievements—taming the Royal Griffin, defending Ellander, driving out the Evil Gods—and use those feats to consolidate the growing Witcher Corps, the School of the Wolf would fall apart.
Sol was the founder of the School of the Wolf, and his current status reflected that.
So why was Vera setting all this up for him, even dismissing Vesemir, Danthe, and Aristo?
Could it be…
[Allen, do you want to be the Chief?]
Sol's world-shaking question echoed in his mind, making Allen's heart race.
Tap~ Tap~ Tap~
Footsteps struck the lonely stone stairs.
Mid-conversation, Vera gradually fell silent. Her steps came to a halt at a pointed-arch window etched with flames.
Outside, the pale castle walls, staggered training grounds, and layered roads revealed a panoramic view of half of Kaer Morhen.
Allen had gone over this layout in detail when Duke Mason and Sol had last discussed relocating the school.
These seemingly ordinary structures and roads, beyond their basic functions, were all designed to become blood-grooved blades striking back at invaders when the time came. But any truly intelligent enemy wouldn't opt for a direct assault on a mountain fortress.
They'd choose deception, assassination, alliances—wearing them down slowly, slice by slice, until they either collapsed from surprise or died with no other option left.
Beyond a thick castle wall, the moat rushed swiftly past, glistening in the sunlight as it flowed eastward.
This nameless moat would join the Lixela River after descending the mountain, and eventually merge with the mighty Pontar River, which divided the north and south before flowing west into the Northern Sea.
Bathed in the sunlight from the window, Vera stood in silence for a long time.
Allen didn't interrupt her. He followed her gaze and saw the trainees on the training grounds. They were witcher apprentices currently undergoing the "Trial of Choice."
A cluster of small figures, shouted at by veteran witchers, swung wooden swords while staggering across a narrow training beam, dodging swinging pendulums.
No matter how much the death rate of the Trial of Grasses or Mountain Trial decreased, the path of a witcher was still grueling. But Allen had no intention of changing this—every drop of sweat shed now might save a life in the future.
In fact…
If you removed the death rate of the Trial of Grasses, at least in this era, being a Witcher was still a fairly decent path. They were respected and well-paid, and due to their neutrality, largely unaffected by war.
As long as one played it safe, they could live a long and moderately comfortable life.
Unfortunately, Witchers were rarely cautious—especially when they were young and impulsive. The young hotheads always wanted to surpass their limits, challenge stronger monsters, and seek glory.
Even so, they still lived better and longer than many commoners and even knights.
After all, war was the most terrifying monster of all.
"Allen, what do you think of Sadia?" Vera asked without turning back, her voice emotionless.
Sadia… Allen frowned.
He had thought that once the long silence was broken, it would be about the Chief Chair Soy or the future of the School of the Wolf.
"Sadia…"
Allen recalled.
Sadia and Lady Vera were once close friends, but because of the conflict and war between humans and elves, they turned into enemies.
In the war, Sadia was slightly weaker than Vera and had her magic stripped, then sent to the Temple of Melitele.
After that, she changed her appearance, traveled the Northern Continent as a healer, fell in love with the knight of Viscount Hudson, and was later hunted by Kaedwen and Ban Ard due to a fragment of the Gate of Ard Gaeth. Ultimately, she brought ruin upon the Lysa family and survived for a long time in an abandoned mine, in an illusory orchard woven by magic.
So…
Which part was Vera asking about?
Sadia's political stance, her abilities, her character?
Or perhaps her relationship with Simlas Finn aep Dabairr, and what effect it might have on the School of the Wolf?
"Which aspect?" Allen asked, confused. "I only spent a day with Sadia. I don't know her that well."
"But she seems to have a high status among the Free Elves. Forming an alliance with them can only benefit the School of the Wolf."
"Don't say 'seems'." Vera fell silent for a moment, then said, "Sadia is of pure royal blood from the Aen Seidhe."
"Her great-grandfather was Divethaf, the last King of the Aen Seidhe—who swore allegiance to Ludovic, the human king of Toussaint, and symbolically buried the elven era that had lasted over 1,500 years."
"Otherwise, during the Aen Elle uprising, there wouldn't have been so many elves willing to follow the White Rose of Shaerrawedd."
This was the Chief time Allen had heard that. So, the claim to the Elven throne actually lay with Sadia. Francesca Findabair really was a princess of the elves… Allen raised an eyebrow.
Vera continued, "In the current situation, an alliance with the Free Elves isn't a bad thing. You did well."
"But…"
Vera's tone paused subtly. "That's not what I wanted to ask…"
She pointed out the window.
Allen looked in the direction, toward the training yard where the apprentices were.
What did that have to do with Sadia?
Allen was puzzled.
Before he could ask, Vera took a deep breath and said: "Do you think Sadia did the right thing?"
"Sending her own flesh and blood to Kaer Morhen based on a prophecy, paving the way for them to become Witchers?"
Allen then noticed that there were indeed a few familiar-looking apprentices on the training field.
Dark golden hair, slightly pointed ears, though not as much as pure elves.
Half-elves!
Those few were half-elves—children of Sadia and the knight Hode.
To be honest, if Vera hadn't brought it up, he'd forgotten there were half-elves in Kaer Morhen. Aside from the half-elves, even the "unexpected child" he had brought up the mountain—Yennefer's younger brother—he had also forgotten.
After all, he wasn't responsible for training the apprentices. From the time they entered Kaer Morhen to passing the trial and becoming eligible to join the monster-hunting ranks, it would take several years. He didn't have the energy to focus on their training yet.
So…
Why was Vera asking this?
Vera placed her hands on the windowsill, watching the half-elves on the training ground. "Sadia could have taken them to the Free Elves' settlement. Their life there wouldn't be perfectly peaceful, but at least safe and comfortable."
"But now, because of a prophecy, they were sent to Kaer Morhen. If not for your refined elixir, only one or two might survive…"
"Do you think," Vera turned back to him, eyes fixed on his, "they'll resent Sadia?"
"To be gambled with by their own kin, placed on the altar of fate…" Allen looked at the small figure dodging the pendulum, stumbling, the clatter of a wooden sword dropping echoing even from this distance.
"They probably… probably will…" Allen replied, caught off guard. He didn't understand why Vera was asking him this question.
And did this question even need to be pondered?
Of course they would feel hatred!
Except for those orphans chosen by witchers during their travels, whether they were offered as payment or born under the Law of Surprise, it was extremely rare for any of them not to harbor resentment toward their parents.
Just like Lambert from the School of the Wolf in the original books and games—more than a century had passed, and he still hadn't forgiven his drunkard father. Or take Jerome Moreau, son of Thomas Moreau from the Griffin School…
Too many cases to count.
Not to mention these half-elves, who had barely escaped the illusionary prisons they were trapped in. They hadn't even had a taste of normal life before being handed over to the School of the Wolf because of Sadia's unwavering belief in the so-called "Child of Miracle" prophecy.
How was that any different from abandonment?
What Sadia did was clearly wrong. Of course the half-elves hated her—there was no need for empathy or deep analysis to reach that conclusion.
"Yeah, how could they not hate her?" Vera looked at Allen and sighed in her heart, murmuring softly.
"What is it, Lady Vera?" Allen asked cautiously. "Did Lady Sadia want to take them back? Is that another condition of the Alliance?"
If that were the case, it would be a real headache.
The School of the Wolf only takes people in—there's no precedent for anyone ever leaving. That's one of the hardest rules of the school. If not for that, they wouldn't have made so many enemies across the Northern Realms.
"No," Vera shook her head. "When she went to the Free Elves' settlement, Sadia didn't even bring up the subject."
"Well… that's cold, to say the least…" Allen raised an eyebrow.
Those half-elf apprentices really drew the short straw with a mother like her. But then again, this was very much in line with Sadia's character.
You could call her heartless—
Sadia had cast aside her noble status, wandered the Northern Realms to help the people, and saved many lives. Not only that, she accepted the courtship of a mere knight and bore him many children. She also did her best to protect the daughter of her benefactor, Viscount Hudson—Lysa.
But if you said she was sentimental—
Because of ideological differences and so-called love, she not only betrayed her elven sage husband, Simlas Finn aep Dabairr, but also abandoned their young daughter, Francesca. And now, she had sent more of her half-elven offspring to Kaer Morhen.
Hard to judge. Very hard to judge.
Vera looked at Allen—barely fourteen years old and already a name known far and wide. She remained silent for a long time before finally sighing.
"Yes."
"To wager one's own kin on a bet with fate—what is that, if not heartless…"
"If someone like that could still hope for forgiveness, the gods themselves would find it unjust and send down the cruelest punishments."
The candlelight flickered in the darkness, trembling constantly, but only illuminated half of the sorceress's face.
Before Allen could fully grasp the meaning behind her words, Vera gave the half-elven apprentices on the training grounds a complex, pitying look. Her skirt brushed across the damp stone steps as she turned away.
"But…"
Vera seemed to have made a firm decision. Her heavy tone suddenly grew strong and resolute: "A sin must be laid bare before the world, even if it cannot be atoned for."
"Come. I'll take you to see Sol."
A sin… atonement…
That didn't sound like she was talking about Sadia…
And seeing Sol?
Allen frowned. Still trying to make sense of Vera's cryptic words, he looked up in confusion as she ascended the stone stairs.
Under the dim candlelight, the spiral staircase seemed endless.
But no matter how endless, this path did not lead to the quarters of the Chief. These halls only connected guest rooms and storage spaces—places rarely used except during the dead of winter. There were no functional rooms here like the library or alchemy lab.
Why would the Chief be here?
And why hadn't he seen the Free Elves' envoy in three days?
What had happened in just these two short months?
Why were Aristo and Vera so tight-lipped?
The scent of oranges mixed with cardamom drifted faintly through the air, carried by the swaying of her simple, clean skirt—just like the day he broke into the alchemy lab.
Listening to the heavy echo of footsteps, Allen's nerves were drawn taut by unease, like thunderclouds before a storm.
"Don't ask, Allen. Don't ask," Vera seemed to sense his tension. "I know you have many questions. After you've seen Sol, I'll tell you everything…"
"Nothing hidden. Not a single word left out…"
.....
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