The Witcher gently set down the burden he carried, along with the black cloth draped over it, onto a raised, smooth stone platform hidden deep within the passage.
Instantly, the oppressive magical aura unique to Hen Gedymdeith, the Source of Magic, spread through the entire space.
The black cloth covering Hen Gedymdeith was nothing special at first glance.
It was a byproduct of alchemy — Veilcloth of Concealed Magic, a dyed fabric infused with powdered dimeritium during the process.
It could suppress and obscure magical fluctuations, though unlike pure dimeritium, it didn't completely destroy already-formed magical energy. It was often used to preserve enchanted items.
Of course, it had other uses as well.
When Vesemir first arrived here, he once used this very same cloth to cover the cage that held a Drowner, preventing the wolf medallions worn by the Witchers within the castle from constantly vibrating.
However, the magical intensity surrounding Hen Gedymdeith far surpassed that of the Wolf School's cloths — this piece was clearly of much higher quality.
Vilgefortz's preparations had been thorough indeed.
Without the Veilcloth of Concealed Magic to mask the power radiating from Hen Gedymdeith, the ambush that killed three or four magical attendants in an instant would never have succeeded.
Allen lifted the cloth.
"Bzzzt—"
The wolf medallion hanging from his leather armor vibrated wildly, a pale blue glow pulsing beneath the black fabric, illuminating the floating dust in the air.
Tap, tap…
Vilgefortz approached, gathering the cloth to one side of the platform.
The figure of Hen Gedymdeith, the North's most senior, most powerful, and most influential sorcerer, was revealed before them.
His eyes were closed, his body clad in a black robe of the sorcerers' order, sealed within what looked like a thin layer of ice.
Yet that outer layer was strangely soft — more like some kind of gelatinous substance that didn't hinder movement. It felt pliant to the touch, rough but not slick.
The pale blue light pulsed within the translucent gel, brightening and dimming like breathing.
It was likely a protective ward Hen Gedymdeith had activated before losing consciousness.
What baffled them, however, was that Sunny had somehow managed to pass a pair of dimeritium shackles through the gel, locking them around the archmage's wrists.
Surprisingly, this did not diminish the faint blue glow emanating from the strange substance, nor did it suppress the terrifying aura that still rolled from Hen Gedymdeith's body like that of a sleeping beast.
Absurd…
Allen clicked his tongue.
Dimeritium shackles could suppress the magic of even the most powerful mages, stripping them of their casting abilities and leaving them in agony.
He recalled from the records — during the Thanedd Island coup, Artaud Terranova, one of the five members of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers, was shackled by Dijkstra, the spymaster of Redania. The moment the metal touched his wrists, he screamed, struggled, and vomited from the pain.
The reaction had been violent.
Yet Hen Gedymdeith now slept soundly, his pressure and aura untouched.
Then again, perhaps it wasn't that strange.
During that same coup, Tissaia de Vries had not only freed herself from dimeritium shackles but also released several other sorceresses.
Hen Gedymdeith was even stronger than Tissaia de Vries — such feats would be trivial for him.
"You've done well protecting him," said Vilgefortz after a moment's inspection, nodding slightly. "No major injuries. But now, we have two choices…"
"One — you carry Hen Gedymdeith on your back while I handle the illusions and defenses. We move through the tunnels and face whatever traps wait outside…"
"The other—"
He gestured toward the shackles on the archmage's wrists.
"His recovery is being suppressed by dimeritium. We could try removing the shackles, awaken him, and see if he can offer us a better plan."
"I'll take the first option," Allen said curtly, covering Hen Gedymdeith once more with the black cloth.
He'd have to be insane to pick the second.
They might be rescuing Hen Gedymdeith from Ban Ard, but the archmage himself didn't know that.
If he removed the shackles and woke him — what if Hen Gedymdeith opened with a Fireball, or worse?
Even if they explained the situation, who could guarantee the archmage wouldn't draw his own conclusions?
What if, upon leaving the tunnels, Hen Gedymdeith thought he was still the master of Ban Ard, and exposed their escape?
What if rage and betrayal clouded his judgment, and he tried to strike down Sunny and Ortolan in his weakened state?
Or worse — what if he regained his composure, used his charisma and reputation to persuade the mages of Ban Ard, forgive his former apprentice and "colleague," and everything returned to the way it was?
Then what? What would a Witcher of the Wolf School do?
No matter how he thought about it, it was too risky. Better to keep the archmage unconscious and predictable.
Vilgefortz shrugged, saying nothing, and helped Allen rewrap Hen Gedymdeith.
Rumble…
From the tunnel they came through, a deep rolling thunder echoed again and again.
Pebbles danced across the platform beside the archmage, and dust rained down from the ceiling.
"Sunny must really hate you right now," Allen muttered, shaking his head as the booming drew nearer. "You should've done what I did — hide behind an illusion."
Vilgefortz finished securing Hen Gedymdeith, tying the wrapped body firmly to Allen's back.
"Then things may not go as smoothly as you hope," he said quietly.
"The exit to the secret passage isn't close. Two strangers suddenly appearing outside will only draw Sunny and Miguel's immediate retaliation — and they'll trap us before we take two steps."
He gave a faint, wry smile. "At least this face of mine will shock them for a moment — enough to buy us time to plan our route and attacks."
A mind game?
Allen thought for a moment. Indeed, when Sunny and Miguel saw Vilgefortz's face — and remembered his 'betrayal' — their anger and confusion had given them precious seconds.
Without that hesitation, even if they'd escaped into the secret passage, they would've suffered far worse injuries.
But that came at a steep cost — Vilgefortz had now completely burned his ties with both Ban Ard and Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization.
To make such a decisive choice in a split second…
It truly was fitting for one who bore the title Source of Magic, the man destined to shake the entire Continent — Vilgefortz of Roggeveen.
"But what about Lydia?"
Allen suddenly remembered the sorceress still spying in Ban Ard.
If word of Vilgefortz's betrayal reached the upper circles, Lydia would be in grave danger.
"Should we send her a magical short message?" he suggested.
Vilgefortz froze for a moment, silent for several seconds before replying softly, "Magical messages can only travel along open channels. Either we send it back through the cracks behind us — where Sunny and Miguel would instantly intercept it…"
"Or we send it ahead, before leaving the tunnel — but that would alert any mages or guards lying in wait at the exit."
He paused, then added with quiet finality: "Lydia is an exceptional sorceress. She'll know how to take care of herself."
Allen said nothing for a while, tightening the straps across his shoulders.
Yes… that was something Vilgefortz would say.
If he were truly just Allen — a Witcher born and bred in the North — he might have taken it as simple faith in Lydia's strength. But he wasn't that naive. He remembered the truth of what would happen in the future.
During the Thanedd Island coup, in order to protect the captured Vilgefortz, Lydia had attacked the mages siding with the Northern Kingdoms. In the chaos, she was fatally stabbed — by her own dagger.
It had seemed an accident.
But later, in that brutal fight where Geralt's leg was shattered, the witcher had demanded: "Vilgefortz, why did Lydia have to die? Why did you order her to do it? Her task was to draw attention away from you, wasn't it? To buy you time — time to resist the dimeritium, so you could signal Rience through telepathy, right?
Poor Lydia, the disfigured artist. Everyone knew she was just a pawn. Everyone but her."
"…Allen."
Vilgefortz's voice brought him back from his thoughts. His tone was casual, but his eyes sharp.
"Why," he asked, "did Sunny and Miguel mistake you for the Wild Hunt?"
-----------------------------------
Yes… why indeed?
The witcher brushed off Vilgefortz's question with a vague reply, though his mind was turning fast.
Sunny and Miguel's tone earlier hadn't carried even a hint of doubt — it wasn't a guess.
They were certain.
They were absolutely sure that the man beside Vilgefortz — the one carrying Hen Gedymdeith — was a member of the Wild Hunt.
But why?
Countless memories flickered through Allen's mind — moments since he had left Kaer Morhen, pieces of every encounter replaying one after another.
"It's not strange to be mistaken for one of them," he thought grimly. "Even before the real Hunt descends, the armor of the Hunt had already been on my back."
He reasoned further, his hunter's logic dissecting every step.
"If I made it safely all the way from the Withered Grove to Kaer Morhen, then my escape wasn't discovered immediately by any mage."
"Sunny and Ortolan's return may not have been late, but it certainly wasn't fast either."
"That means they only found traces of me long after I'd left the battlefield. And I'd already taken off the Hunt's armor not long after leaving the Grove…"
He frowned.
"If it were a prophecy, it wouldn't have described only me, and specifically my appearance before leaving the Grove. So that doesn't add up…"
Then a flash of realization struck him.
"Wait — the Eye of Truth!"
Vilgefortz noticed the sudden change in his expression. "What is it?" he asked, puzzled. "Did you figure something out?"
"Nothing," Allen said quickly, shaking his head. His wolf-like ears twitched as he pointed upward with his free hand, deftly changing the subject.
"Do you hear that? There's more up there than just Sunny and his men."
Vilgefortz took the bait and tilted his head toward the dark stone ceiling.
A faint, rhythmic rumble echoed from above.
Even with a Source's heightened senses, the sound was little more than a distant tremor — but it was there.
As he recalled the temple's depth and the slope of the passage they'd passed through, his expression grew increasingly grave.
"This isn't just a minor disturbance," he muttered, brow furrowing.
"Ban Ard sounds like it's under siege again. No — not just war. Human armies could never produce such intensity…"
He went still. "The Wild Hunt?"
Vilgefortz's voice rose slightly. "The Hunt must have followed Sunny and Ortolan back here. But…"
His tone shifted into disbelief. "Why would they be so foolish? Bringing those monsters home with them? The battle should've ended deep within the Blue Mountains!"
"No, that can't be right. In Lydia's last message, she clearly said the mages of Ban Ard and Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization were unharmed…"
He frowned, murmuring, "Strange…"
"Don't overthink it," Allen interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. He gestured toward the unconscious Hen Gedymdeith strapped to his back.
"Whether it's the Wild Hunt or not — chaos in Ban Ard is good for us, isn't it?"
Vilgefortz paused, then slowly nodded, the tension in his brow easing.
"Yes. You're right. It is good for us."
"But we still can't get careless," he added, his tone sharpening. "I know Ortolan and Sunny. They'll never stop hunting us down."
"And even if the Hunt did strike Ban Ard once before, six months ago, there's no way they could destroy it again so soon."
He looked Allen directly in the eyes.
"Ban Ard and the Rissberg mages still have plenty of strength left."
"I know," Allen said softly, nodding.
Of course he wouldn't underestimate them.
Even if he hadn't lived in Ban Ard as long as Vilgefortz, he knew that since the last Hunt attack half a year ago, the mages must have spent every waking hour researching countermeasures.
Ban Ard wasn't like the bloated, bureaucratic kingdoms of the North — it was a city of sorcerers. And Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization had come specifically because of the Hunt.
There was no chance they'd be caught unprepared.
Allen was silent for a long while, thinking.
Judging from the casualties between Ban Ard and the Consortium, both sides must have ceased fighting soon after he'd left the Withered Grove.
Sunny and Ortolan must've used some means — perhaps through the Eye of Truth — to locate him, tracking him all the way here to Ban Ard.
And in Lydia van Bredevoort's magical message, there had been no mention of the Wild Hunt.
That could only mean one thing —
The Hunt had descended afterwards.
Unexpectedly.
And not even Sunny or Ortolan had foreseen it.
-----------------------------------
Then the question arose.
It was known that the Wild Hunt were not mindless, primitive monsters, but a race of warriors—the Aen Elle, beings whose wisdom and battle experience often surpassed that of men.
So why?
Why had the Wild Hunt, after leaving the Withered Woods and avoiding direct conflict with the elites of Ban Ard and Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization, suddenly chosen to strike at Ban Ard—the very stronghold of the mages?
Were they coming for Ban Ard itself, seeking to strike down the mages when they least expected it… or—
Were they coming for him, for the "Child of the Conjunction," the one who had stirred the heavens into chaos?
In other words…
"Could it be," Allen muttered under his breath, his expression shifting beneath the deep shadows, "that the Wild Hunt has found a way to track my location?"
..........
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