They stood within a vineyard estate.
Thick vines burst from the earth, winding their way up neatly arranged trellises. Each trellis bore an exquisitely carved lion motif at its peak.
It appeared to be harvest season. Though the grapes were small, they hung in full, plump clusters, their sweetness mixing with the scent of rain-soaked earth in the warm air.
If not for the unnatural absence of caretakers and the constant trembling of the wolf medallion on his chest, one might not have realized this was an illusion.
"Even though it's an illusion, the grapes are edible," Vera said with a smile, plucking a bunch and handing it to Allen. "These are Lumis—a top-tier wine grape. The skin of the Lumis is used in brewing East-of-East, blended with the flesh of Qingduolan grapes during fermentation."
"Only in Beauclair, the capital of Toussaint, do Lumis grow to such high quality for winemaking."
"They're smaller and have thicker skins, but the flavor is sweet and fragrant—among the best-tasting of all wine grapes."
Curious, Allen took the Lumi grapes from Vera and tasted one.
The skin was indeed much thicker than typical grapes, but the moment he gently bit into it, an intense burst of fruit fragrance exploded in his mouth. The flesh was so rich and delicate it practically melted on his tongue.
"This is... an illusion?" Allen smacked his lips, astonished.
Whether it was an illusion or not, he could easily verify by activating the Mirage Pearl.
But he hesitated.
The scene before him—with its saturated colors and relaxing atmosphere—was too beautiful to dispel so easily. The grapes were fragrant and sweet, the view idyllic.
If he were to dispel the illusion now, even if it instantly returned to normal, every sense—sight, smell, touch, hearing, and taste—would lose the immersive authenticity it now possessed.
With Vera present, and no real danger, why bother?
"Does it taste good?" Vera conjured a white silk cloth and gently wiped his lips.
"Very rich in flavor. Quite nice." Allen nodded.
Vera's eyes squinted in delight, her refined makeup softening with a kindness that reminded Allen faintly of Ianna.
She chuckled, "Lumis are treasures unique to Toussaint, and only Beauclair grows them at this quality."
"Temeria and Aedirn also grow Lumis, but theirs are thick-skinned, tart, and full of seeds..."
"Only under Beauclair's golden sunshine year-round, nourished by the gentle waters of the Sansretour River, can Lumis grow like this—fit for both wine and the table."
"Every summer and autumn, the wine merchants of Beauclair must outwit playful children from the vineyards just to secure enough supply…"
"Toussaint, huh..." Allen walked on but looked back longingly at the scene, enchanted.
In the original tale, Toussaint was practically a city out of a fairytale.
Not just for its eternally mild climate—its trees and groves bore rich, juicy fruits all year round, ensuring no one ever went hungry.
But also because it housed the most chivalrous knights, with kind and passionate people. It was one of the rare places where witchers faced no hatred or prejudice—only admiration for their heroism.
It was, almost literally, paradise on earth.
"So your trip to Toussaint was to recreate this scene here?" Allen asked curiously.
Vera didn't answer immediately. Instead, she crouched down with Allen and led him under the trellises, pushing open a short wooden gate.
Beyond it lay a small courtyard.
A modest wooden cabin stood at the center, surrounded by pink hollyhocks and clusters of pale purple thyme blossoms.
A reclining chair rocked slowly in the breeze outside the door.
"Sol needs this kind of environment," Vera said, nodding, stepping through the gate Chief.
Allen followed closely behind.
But the moment his right foot crossed the threshold, the light and idyllic scene was shattered by a sudden, oppressive pressure—one even the charming courtyard couldn't conceal.
It was draconic aura. Faint, but impossible to ignore.
"The Chief is inside that cabin?" Allen asked.
Vera gave a slight nod and sighed as she looked at the house. "We're fortunate. He's in his most stable state right now. Come."
Most stable… Allen's expression tightened, his nerves tensing.
The cabin's windows were tightly shut, and from the cracks seeped a deep, unsettling darkness, as if some hideous demon from the abyss had been sealed inside.
As they neared the wooden house, the wolf medallion began to hum, vibrating with increasing intensity. By the time they reached the doorway, the vibration had reached its peak.
Allen pressed down on the medallion, trying to muffle its sharp, shrill screech, and watched as Vera pushed the door open.
"Creak~"
The humming abruptly ceased. It was as though the entire world had fallen silent—no wind, no drifting clouds. The only sound left was the agonizing groan of the turning door hinge.
The door swung open. No red dragon burst out roaring.
As they stepped inside, even the oppressive malice and faint draconic presence vanished.
When Allen's witcher eyes adjusted to the darkness, his cat-like pupils narrowed sharply into slits.
Kneeling in a meditative posture atop a wooden bed was a man.
He wore simple linen garments, his eyes shut, his face thin and haggard. If not for his relatively tidy appearance, he could easily be mistaken for a beggar off the streets.
But that wasn't what made Allen's expression change drastically. What truly shocked him were the shackles—emanating a faint blue glow—clamped tightly around the man's wrists and ankles, anchoring him to the floor and walls.
Those were dimeritium shackles, made specifically to imprison mages!
Even more bizarre, the bed and the entire interior of the "wooden house" shimmered faintly in and out of reality.
At times it was a cabin; other times, it became a cold, rocky cave.
And whenever the cave shimmered into view, the gray slate floor showed signs of deep gouges and dark red stains.
In that version, the man's clothing was no longer neat, but tattered and filthy.
"Th-The Chief?!!" Allen's eyes widened. He snapped his head toward Vera. "This… this…"
Lady Vera had locked the Chief in a cave?!
No wonder Francesca Findabair hadn't been able to find him—but didn't Master Aristo know?
"Sol has the key," Vera said calmly, as if she had already anticipated Allen's reaction. "He's the one imprisoning himself."
Allen blinked, glancing toward Sol.
Sure enough, a ring of iron keys lay atop a cabinet beside the bed.
"But why is the Chief like this?" Allen asked, confused. Just two or three months ago, while Sol had looked a little dejected over the betrayal and death of his adopted son Henselt, he was still generally fine.
How had he ended up like a lunatic in an asylum?
All this… just because of a dead king?
A leader of a school, someone who had lived for centuries—how could he break so easily?
"Sol… Sol he…" Vera hesitated for a long time, seemingly trying to find the right words. She opened her mouth but failed to come up with a fitting explanation.
Just then—
"I forsook my path. This is the punishment fate has given me," Sol suddenly opened his eyes, interrupting her. "I just didn't expect the consequences to be so severe."
Forsook his path… fate's punishment… consequences…
What exactly was the Chief talking about?
Allen looked completely baffled as he turned to Vera, but she only stared at Sol, her eyes filled with barely concealed sorrow.
Fortunately—
Sol seemed to notice Allen's confusion and explained gently: "When one's strength reaches a certain threshold, everyone must choose a path to break through their limits and continue ascending the mountain."
"Once set upon this path, there's no turning back. Even the slightest hesitation can bring your progress to a halt. And I…"
He paused, then gave a self-deprecating chuckle.
"I denied the ideals I once held and abandoned the path I had chosen. That's why I… fell into the abyss."
Allen didn't quite understand, but he felt he'd caught onto a few key words.
Path, limit, summit, abyss…
He wasn't sure what the others meant, but could "limit" refer to the system prompt he once saw when his Strength stat reached ninety-nine—"Limit · Initial"?
[Attribute: Strength has reached Limit · Initial. Seek to complete your being.]
He had always assumed that "completing himself" referred to undergoing the second mutation developed by Thomas Moryu. But Sol clearly never had access to that technology.
So… had Allen misunderstood the message all along?
Or perhaps Sol's path and his were two entirely different roads?
He considered using an Identify spell on Sol, but the Chief's current mental state seemed unstable, and Allen hesitated—then ultimately decided against it.
"How do you know when your strength is enough—when it's time to choose a path?" Allen gritted his teeth and asked directly.
"It's not that I don't want to tell you," Sol shook his head at the question, "but it's still too early for you. Knowing too much ahead of time won't help you."
"And when your strength truly reaches that threshold, you won't need reminders or tests—you'll feel it yourself."
I'll know it myself… Allen went silent for a few seconds. Did the system prompt count as "a feeling"?
Sol saw the furrow in his brow and added in a gentle tone, "When that time comes, go to Vera. She'll tell you everything."
"Chief…" Allen sensed a foreboding weight in those words and was about to speak—
"No more of this," Sol waved his hand, cutting him off. The dimeritium shackles on his wrist clinked with a chilling clank clank. "Since Vera brought you here, I assume there's a real purpose."
"While I'm still clear-headed, tell me quickly."
Right—business came Chief. Francesca was still waiting for a reply. Allen forced himself to set aside his curiosity and said:
"The Free Elves deep within Blue Mountains, following the agreement from half a year ago, have sent an envoy."
"The pact between the Free Elves and the School of the Wolf still needs you to sign it personally."
"Free Elves?" Sol froze for a second, then realization dawned. "You mean Sadia's people? They just arrived today?"
"Th—" Allen paused, then glanced at Vera.
"Four days ago," Vera sighed. "They came back with me. You weren't well at the time, so Aristo and I discussed it and decided not to disturb you."
Sol was silent for a long while before finally looking up at the plain wooden ceiling beams. He took a deep breath and asked:
"What time is it now?"
"Nearly noon," Allen replied.
Sol nodded. "Then at dusk. I will—"
"Sol!" Vera suddenly interrupted, her voice sharp. "Have you forgotten your condition? You can't leave this place right now!"
"I can endure—"
"No!" Vera's refusal was absolute, her tone firm and unwavering.
The cabin fell into dead silence.
The tension in the air was so thick, no one dared to speak.
Allen instinctively held his breath, though his mind kept spinning—just how badly was the Chief injured? Why couldn't he even spare the time to sign a pre-agreed contract—one that only needed a signature—let alone leave this beautiful prison?
Was abandoning that so-called path really this serious?
"I can't stay here forever…" Sol finally broke the silence. He gave a guilty, almost pleading smile to Vera. "I'm the Chief of the School of the Wolf, the Grandmaster of the Ancient Sea Fortress. This is my duty…"
"Have you forgotten what you said?" Vera's voice suddenly sharpened, laced with panic. "You said that once it's all over, we'd return to Toussaint together. We'd plant grapes, make wine, enter competitions…"
"How are you going to keep that promise?"
"Our future—don't you want to be part of it anymore?!"
Allen, who had been pretending to be invisible and avoiding eye contact, suddenly felt both Sol and Vera's gazes turn toward him, making his whole body tense up.
He thought Sol was signaling him to help persuade Vera, while Vera was blaming him, expecting him to talk Sol down.
If he had known it would turn out like this, he never would've brought it up… he cursed himself silently.
But since he had been the one to raise the idea of the Free Elves and the School of the Wolf forming an alliance—and Francesca Findabair was an old acquaintance—it wasn't something he could avoid.
"How about… how about letting the Free Elves come here instead?"
Allen suggested cautiously.
He wasn't sure if outsiders could enter this place, but since he had managed to get in, it was probably possible.
He continued, "The Free Elves' envoy, Francesca Findabair, is someone I've shared hardships with… um… a friend. As long as we talk it through, and she finds a way to shake her guards, I doubt she'd leak the Chief's condition."
"Francesca Findabair?" Sol seemed to recall the name vaguely.
"Daughter of Shadia and Simlas Finn aep Dabairr." Vera added, then turned to Allen. "Only a friend?"
Allen silently shook his head. Is this really the time to gossip about my love life?
"We're just friends," he said softly.
Vera and Sol exchanged glances, then lowered their eyes in thought.
"Let's do that then," Vera was the Chief to agree. "Compared to us, Aen Seidhe need an ally who opposes both Ban Ard and Kaedwen. Even if Francesca leaks the information, it won't matter."
Kaedwen is already gone… Allen sighed inwardly when he heard that.
But it seemed neither Vera nor Sol knew yet. Hadn't they read Vesemir's last letter from Ellander?
"Fine," Sol suddenly changed his expression and said, a little hurriedly, "Anything else?"
Allen, preoccupied with his thoughts, didn't notice Sol's urgency.
He hesitated. Should he mention Kaedwen's fall, the Wild Hunt, Drakenborg, and the rescue of Hen Gedymdeith now?
Honestly, he was afraid that if he dumped all this on Sol without knowing if the man could handle the stress, the Chief might drop dead on the spot.
"Let's go," Vera stepped in to save him. "If it's not urgent, it can wait."
Allen let out a breath of relief and obediently followed Vera away.
Kaedwen's fall, killing a noble from Redania, offending the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization and the Rogrides aristocrats—surely those didn't count as urgent… right?
Once they stepped out of the wooden cabin and left the small courtyard, the stifling tension was immediately washed away by Toussaint's dreamlike scenery.
But Vera hadn't regained her earlier ease or joy.
Noticing her somber mood, Allen cautiously asked, "Lady Vera, have you heard of a 'Legecy Vessel'?"
.....
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