After hastily leaving the castle hall and walking nearly fifty or sixty meters, Allen suddenly realized—he had no idea where the elves were staying. So he hurried back to the hall, intending to ask Lady Vera.
But before he could push the door open, the sound of a girl sobbing slipped through the crack in the door, instantly picked up by the witcher's sharp senses.
His right hand, already resting on the verdigris-stained door ring, never summoned the strength to push the door open.
Even though nothing improper had happened between him and Philippa Eilhart, the lingering memory of last night—the soft, silky sensation of bare skin—kept rippling through his mind, making that supposed innocence feel somewhat less than pure.
Especially since he intended to ask about Francesca Findabair—he feared it would only make things worse.
"Well, Kaer Morhen isn't that big. If I spend some time, I should be able to find them..."
Allen sighed to himself.
Seizing the moment before Erni, Klar, and the others returned from training, he slipped into a stealth stance—the most standard dual-sword sneaking form of the Cat School—and silently blended into the shadows beneath the trees at the castle entrance. Remaining in the blind spots of onlookers, he crossed the grass swiftly and quietly disappeared.
Truth be told, he'd never thought Cat School techniques would be put to use in a situation like this.
Fortunately, finding Francesca Findabair's residence wasn't too difficult. With two tracking skills at his disposal, he easily followed the lingering scent of chamomile and cedarwood, and then picked up the trail of red footprints, leading straight to her most recent location.
Troublesome, yes—but not overly time-consuming.
Before long, Allen arrived at his destination.
Another tower, also on the third floor—just like his own quarters—but while his faced north, this one was attached to the southern side of the castle.
Judging by the layout, whether it was arranged by Lady Vera or Master Aristo, the accommodations were clearly of the highest standard.
Allen's room used to belong to the chief sorcerer of the Wolf School. But who lived in the northern tower before?
As he stepped onto the last stair, Allen paused just before knocking. A voice full of complaint came from inside the door.
"These witchers are so rude—we've waited three days and haven't even seen the school's leader!"
"Who do they think they are?"
"They talk of an alliance? We're here to protect them, and they treat us like this!"
"Why are Lady Saedia and the sage placing so much importance on this bunch of witchers?"
Clearly, due to the chief's condition and the delay in receiving them, the typically proud elves were growing quite angry.
"Enough, Sova, Kariya," Francesca's voice rang out like a clear spring, breaking the tension. "No more complaints. Grandmaster Sol of the Wolf School must have been delayed by something."
"What could possibly happen in Kaer Morhen in summer?" a furious female voice snapped. "There's barely anyone in this castle. They're clearly just looking down on us mountain folk."
"Yes, Lady Enid," another voice chimed in. "Sova is right. I looked into it before we came—Wolf School's leader has close ties to the King of Kaedwen. That glutton may be dead now, but Sol still definitely favors the Kaedwenian royal family."
"They're the sworn enemies of the Free Elves, Lady Enid. Don't be misled!"
The one called Sova warned seamlessly, "I say we should be extra cautious. Don't eat anything here. If we don't get to meet anyone today, we must leave immediately."
"Otherwise, who knows—these witchers of the Wolf School might hand us over as tribute to human nobles or royalty."
"Honestly, Lady Enid, you took a huge risk coming here in person—"
"Enough!!" Francesca's voice suddenly turned stern with frustration. "I trust the Wolf School. They have always remained neutral and are known for their integrity."
"Grandmaster Sol must be facing some troublesome situation and can't break away for now."
"Let's just wait for their message patiently. No more of this. Kariya, come here—help me match this butterfly pendant with a pair of earrings."
"Anything would look good on Lady Enid," Kariya teased, quickly changing tone. "But, may I ask, who exactly are you dressing up for? You never made such an effort at the Free Camp."
The other guard, Sova, jumped in playfully, "Who else? It's gotta be that—"
Clearly, the two attendants were on very familiar terms with her.
"Shut up!" Francesca Findabair snapped, embarrassed.
A chorus of laughter like silver bells echoed from inside the room.
Outside, Allen knew he couldn't let them keep talking. If they happened to say something too sensitive, it'd make it awkward to knock at all.
Knock knock knock~
The wooden door echoed with his knock, and the laughter inside stopped instantly.
"Who is it?" shouted Sova from inside.
"Allen of the Wolf School," Allen replied, "I'm here to discuss forming an allian—"
Before he could finish, a sudden clatter and a cry of pain erupted from the room.
It seemed a chair had fallen and hit the elven girl named Karya before it hit the ground.
"He's here, Allen!" Francesca Findabair's voice rang out, flustered.
This was followed by a string of inaudible murmurs and at least ten minutes of waiting.
Ten minutes later—
Creak~
The wooden door slowly opened, and a familiar blend of chamomile and cedar filled the air.
It was a large, nearly circular room, much like Allen's, with wooden screens partitioning the space and concealing the interior.
Francesca Findabair stood in front of the screen, wearing the same gray-green dress trimmed with yellow. Only her pendant had changed—it was now the size of a thumb, primarily sapphire, with a pair of delicate silver wings set with glittering diamonds.
Like the most beautiful butterfly in the world, resting upon pure white snow in winter.
It had a kind of unique beauty—one born of life clinging to the edge of death. So that's the butterfly pendant… Allen thought, then instinctively glanced up at Francesca Findabair's ears.
Her earlobes were bare. She probably hadn't decided on earrings yet.
But perhaps sensing his gaze, a rosy hue quickly bloomed across her pale ears.
Ahem~
One of the handmaidens coughed twice.
"Apologies," Allen snapped out of it and quickly apologized, "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, it's just that I happened to—"
"No need to explain," Francesca interrupted, trying to stay composed, though the blush now colored the snowy white butterfly, "I know you didn't mean anything by it."
"Let's get to business then. The alliance?"
Allen glanced meaningfully at the two handmaidens, then sincerely explained, "Grandmaster Sol didn't intentionally neglect the three of you. He's just… currently in a state where it's not convenient for him to meet anyone."
"We understand," Francesca nodded and immediately accepted the explanation. She then touched her temples with a weary expression, "But as far as the alliance is concerned, the Mountain Folk will only recognize a signature from Grandmaster Sol. We can wait at Kaer Morhen for a while if needed."
"That won't be necessary," Allen shook his head. "The Grandmaster can sign the treaty tonight. But… only you can go to him."
"No!"
"Tonight? That soon?"
Francesca and her two handmaidens exclaimed in unison, cutting Allen off.
But then Allen and the two handmaidens exchanged strange looks as they turned toward Francesca.
"I—I… What I mean is, we can wait for Grandmaster Sol at Kaer Morhen. There's no rush," Francesca said hurriedly, trying to cover her slip.
Allen pretended not to notice her fluster and continued, "There's no telling when the Grandmaster will recover. Maybe not even by this winter."
"Waiting won't help."
The two handmaidens stepped forward, frowning, subtly placing themselves in front of Francesca as if shielding her, their tone guarded: "Why must she go alone?"
"Is this the way of the Wolf School…"
"I'll go!" Francesca stepped forward firmly and nodded. "What time tonight?"
"Enid!"
"Your Highness!"
Sova and Karya exclaimed in protest.
"Enough!" Francesca raised her hand, cutting them off. Then, locking eyes with Allen—those clear blue eyes, purer than the waters of Lake Assassins—she said with unwavering resolve: "I trust him."
Stared at angrily by Sova and Kariya, Allen remained silent for a few seconds before speaking in a low voice, "After sunset, once dinner is over, I'll come pick you up."
The moment she heard that Allen would be the one to come, Francesca Findabair's eyes widened in surprise, then she smiled warmly and nodded, "Alright. I'll be at the castle hall on time."
The task turned out to be so simple that even Allen hadn't expected it. He never thought he would be rejected, of course—but he had at least assumed it would take twenty or thirty minutes of persuading Francesca's two handmaidens.
To his surprise, the moment he made the invitation, Francesca had agreed without hesitation, dismissing all opposition.
All the arguments he had prepared ended up completely unnecessary.
And the planned tour around Kaer Morhen? There was no way it could still happen this afternoon under the current circumstances.
So—
Allen thought for a moment and could only offer an awkward farewell.
Clack~
Almost as soon as the wooden door closed behind him, loud "advice" sounded from inside the room—though "arguing" might've been more accurate.
"Miss Enid, you can't go! It's too dangerous!"
"Who knows what the School of the Wolf might be planning. For all we know, the one waiting for you isn't even this 'Sol' fellow, but some human nobleman."
"Have you forgotten about Drakenborg? Forgotten how many elves were tricked in the name of love and never returned?"
Sova and Kariya's voices were loud enough to be clearly heard through the door—it was obvious they wanted him to hear.
But Allen didn't feel offended. If he put himself in their shoes, he wouldn't have allowed Francesca to walk alone into someone else's domain to meet a man who hadn't shown himself for three days either.
"It's not about love! And Allen's not a liar!" Francesca Findabair's voice, though hushed, couldn't hide the flustered annoyance. "Stop making things up!"
What followed was a long series of protests and persuasion.
"Sigh~"
Allen didn't keep listening. With a soft sigh, he turned and continued down the shadowy, silent corridor.
It seemed the emotional debt he owed was only growing heavier…
-----------------------------------
The small cabin in Toussaint.
After Vera's voice was swallowed by the whispering void, a long silence settled inside the wooden hut.
In a pool of blood on the bed, Sol—his wrists and ankles tightly bound in chains—knelt with both knees on the wooden boards, head bowed, as if he had fallen asleep… or simply passed out.
But Vera knew he was awake. The torment from the remnants of the Red Dragon's soul wouldn't let him rest for even a second.
No one could sleep through the agony of one's soul being scorched. It was the kind of pain that made your skin crawl just imagining it.
He merely needed time—time for the shattered remnants of his soul, now detached from his body, to slowly return to that even more broken shell of flesh.
"Huh… huh…"
A strange choking noise came from Sol's throat, like someone drowning.
Splatter, splatter…
With the sound of rattling chains, he spat out a mouthful of clotted, black-red blood onto the floor beside the bed.
The smell of blood in the air thickened, tainted with a hint of charred rot and decay.
Watching this, Vera closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight. She waved her hand with practiced ease.
The gruesome stains and stench vanished from the hut in an instant.
Clearly—
She was used to this scene. So used to it… that she hated how used to it she had become.
Sol slowly raised his head with effort. His gray cat-like eyes were bloodshot with crimson streaks—not menacing, but rather soft, sorrowful, filled with guilt.
"…Sorry. I can't hold on much longer," he murmured, a sigh escaping his lips, as if his soul itself were exhausted.
Vera didn't open her eyes. Her voice was hoarse: "What about the seat we promised to build for our child? Wiping it clean, adding armrests, reinforcing the legs, carving patterns into it—symbols of honor and pride?"
"…I'm sorry. I can't do it anymore."
"I already bought the vineyard. It's right by the Sansretour River. We'll grow grapes, make wine, enter contests…"
"…Sorry…"
"Is 'sorry' the only word you have left to say?"
"...Sorry."
Silence settled between them once again.
Vera opened her eyes and stared at the man whose soul and body were both already beyond repair.
She had no intention of taking out Ronnie Dickinson's legacy vessel—because it would be useless. That was the conclusion she and Ida Emean had come to without needing to conduct thorough tests.
At least for Sol as he was now, it would do nothing—he wouldn't last until they had results.
Allen's mention of Tomas Moreau's second mutation… that might be the only hope left.
But—
Other than Tomas Moreau himself, Allen hadn't "seen" much either.
Who could guarantee that so-called second mutation would even work for Sol?
Rather than offering a vague and unreachable hope, perhaps saying nothing was better. Maybe he could endure longer. Maybe there was still a chance… still…
…a miracle…
Child of Miracles…
"Vera…" Sol's voice pulled her from her wavering thoughts. "I'm almost dead. Don't say anything more. Don't bring anything up."
"Love or hate… it's too late for any of it…"
"Allen's parents died fourteen years ago. He's a witcher now. A witcher with no mother or father. Don't make him relive that pain."
"We both know… it's not something you ever get over…"
Vera's nose stung, her eyes reddened. She forced back the swell of emotion and said, "He'll find out eventually."
"But what's lost… is lost. There's no going back. No second chance."
"Sol, which is more painful?"
Sol opened his mouth, but before he could answer, Vera turned away.
"At least if we tell him now, he can drive his sword through you and vent his anger."
Sol smiled helplessly. "Why not kill you instead?"
"Because I'm still useful," Vera replied seriously. "I still have to protect him. I still have to watch him grow up. Watch him live like an ordinary man—get married, have children, grow grapes in the vineyard, make wine, enter competitions…"
She opened the cabin door and said quietly: "Tonight, Sol Henrietta… be ready."
Click—
The wooden door clicked gently against the frame. The sorceress didn't look back.
"Married… with children…"
A long sigh drifted from the small wooden cabin. It sounded like hope. But more than that… like regret.
........
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