The grand, tiered hall was roaring with voices.
Around the oak long table in the center, on three sides, row upon row of wooden seats were placed layer after layer, almost completely filled with people.
And on the side without rows of seats…
Five cushions were laid with rare, thick furs, and high-backed chairs inlaid with precious gemstones stood at the highest point of the hall, overlooking everyone like a mountaintop.
Unfortunately, only two people were sitting on the five high-backed chairs.
One was Tissaia de Vries, and the other was Narses de la Roche.
But even though there were only two people on that side, the hundreds of seats on the other three sides were filled with those wearing black robes, holding wooden staves made from the skulls of rabbits, wolves, and hawks, or sorceresses dressed in translucent gauze whose figures were graceful…
Those sitting at the outermost edge all represented extraordinary forces of the Northern Continent that possessed high-ranking sorcerers.
But that smallest-numbered side still made it so that anyone who entered the hall at a glance knew where the core was, where the real decision-making seats were.
"Dol Dhu Lokke… that place is the Monster's Pit—Dol Dhu Lokke!"
"How many sorcerers do we have to send to fill that pit? Have you forgotten how many sorcerers died in Dol Dhu Lokke because of greed?"
"Then are you saying not to rescue them?"
"Of course not…"
"Then what are you saying?!! You want to save them but don't want to save them—don't tell me you Withered Hands are afraid of losses and refuse to put in effort? Hm?!!"
"How is that possible, you! You! You! You're spewing nonsense…"
-----------------------------------
Listening to the chaotic arguing that was almost about to turn into a fight, Vera let her mind drift in boredom, letting her gaze wander across the glorious hall of Aretuza.
This place, as noisy and chaotic as a mortal marketplace, was exactly the High Sorcerers' Council of the Sorcerers' Brotherhood.
But it hadn't reached the most intense part yet; once the atmosphere reached its peak, all kinds of spells with low actual damage but extremely high humiliation effect—such as turning someone into a pig, inducing diarrhea, or hysterical laughter—would fly freely through the hall.
Then the hall would be livelier than any mortal marketplace, even complete with livestock and stray animals, cats and dogs.
Of course—
The High Sorcerers' Council chamber was still well decorated; for example, magnificent murals were hung across the walls.
Vera's gaze drifted.
Anyone who understood magical history could immediately discern the true meaning within the paintings.
On the south wall was a depiction of a group of children surrounding two men wearing black robes—this was the painting "Chosen for Insight," showing Bekker and Giambattista performing magical testing on the immigrant children while searching for the origins of magic power.
A small detail worth noting was that all the children, male or female, were terrified, except for a brown-haired girl reaching toward Giambattista with a smile of complete trust. She would later become the renowned "Agnes of Glanville," the first female sorceress.
The north wall held "The Novigradian Union," depicting Bekker, Giambattista, and Monck signing a mutual non-aggression pact with rulers, priests, and druids, establishing the separation between sorcerers and the state.
There were no sorceresses in this one, but the order represented by the Novigradian Union was something everyone present knew to be the preference of Aretuza's mistress, Tissaia de Vries.
On the west wall, "The Alabaster Bridge River" showed Monck riding a boat to Loc Muinne, hoping to convince the elves there to adopt a group of magically-gifted children, letting elven mages teach them. Among the children was a little boy—later known as "Gerhart of Aelle," now named Hen Gedymdeith.
Unfortunately, Hen Gedymdeith had not yet awakened and could not see this masterpiece.
As for the painting placed at the eastern main position—the one only faintly visible to the High Sorcerers on the south, north, and west—
An ancient sailboat spiraled within a whirlpool of waves and reefs.
A man in white robes stood at the bow, a bright halo encircling his head.
This was "The Ship of Outcasts," where Jan Bekker used his will to make magic submit. He calmed the waves, proving that magic was not limited to evil and destruction—it could also save lives.
The awakening of feminine power, order instead of war, magic not as an evil force…
The political meaning was so heavy it was about to spill over.
The Sorcerers' Brotherhood Conclave was never meant to be held in one fixed place; it normally rotated between Ban Ard, Aretuza, Redania, and Rissberg.
Yes—those were the powers where the five members of the Chapter of the Gift and the Art were from.
Only four now, because Borhn Drummond lived in seclusion in the Dragon Mountains of the Hengfors League and usually did not attend.
But later, because avoiding trouble and the fact that nearly half the sorcerers were graduates of Ban Ard, the location gradually and tacitly became Ban Ard by default.
However, Ban Ard was now still trapped inside the Monster's Pit, Dol Dhu Lokke, waiting for them to come up with a rescue plan. The real leader of Rissberg was also stuck there. So naturally, the temporary meeting could only be shifted to Aretuza.
At such a moment, its significance for Aretuza and its sorceresses was immense.
Vera tilted her head back, looking at Tissaia de Vries sitting among the five seats in the main position—head lowered, hand on her forehead, silhouette obscured by the bright light behind her. Vera thought privately that this layout was certainly not Tissaia's doing, and probably something she did not want to see.
But Aretuza was slowly losing itself too, following Ban Ard's old path.
Pure academia always bows to power—whether arcane or secular.
"Everything changes…" Vera sighed softly.
At that moment—
"Lady Vera…"
A sorceress beside her suddenly spoke, interrupting her thoughts.
Vera turned, seeing a young sorceress with neat short hair and delicate features, looking at her timidly. She was very young—and a little familiar.
"You are?"
"Right, I forgot to introduce myself…" Amid the surrounding noise, the sorceress grew nervous as Vera looked at her, taking two deep breaths. "My name is Fringilla Vigo…"
"Vigo?" Vera thought for a moment and asked, "What is your relation to Artorius Vigo?"
"Artorius Vigo is my uncle," Fringilla Vigo explained quickly. "I haven't yet met the requirements to be a High Sorcerer, so today I am attending the High Sorcerers' Council on his behalf…"
Artorius Vigo was a master of illusion magic, a sorcerer who relied on illusions to secure a seat on the Brotherhood's High Council.
But to Vera, Artorius Vigo's significance was not in his spellcraft, but in his background.
The Vigos were a famous Toussaint family—almost every generation serving as magical advisors to the Duchy of Toussaint, and they had marriage ties with Henrietta and the Triennes family.
Meaning, this short-haired, timid girl before her might very well call her grandmother or great-grandmother.
"What is it you need?"
Vera's expression softened slightly.
Lady Vera isn't nearly as cold as the rumors… Fringilla Vigo gathered her courage. "It's like this—I am currently serving as magical advisor to Viscount Frank. Recently, at the viscount's wine cellar, vineyards, and pastures, for some unknown reason, Ghouls often wander nearby…"
"You want me to find a few Witchers of the Wolf School to deal with the problem?" Vera asked. Her current long-term residence at the Wolf School was no secret among the Northern powers.
"But isn't Toussaint too far from the Wolf School? You could find Witchers of the Viper School nearby…"
Fringilla Vigo shook her head, her bright green eyes probing carefully. "I heard your alchemy workshop has produced a type of sword oil that can be applied to an ordinary longsword, allowing trained people to kill monsters."
"Not ordinary people," Vera corrected. "They must be trained warriors. Otherwise, normal farmers or fishermen would still be in danger facing Ghouls and Drowners. Of course, the sword oil truly does ignore the monsters' magical favor."
"Ignoring a monster's magical favor… what a brilliant invention!" Fringilla Vigo praised sincerely, making Vera's lips curl faintly—quite pleased.
"I was wondering if it's possible to purchase the sword oil formula—or at least purchase some sword oil to equip the castle guards…" Seeing Vera's brows tighten, she quickly changed her wording.
"The formula is impossible," Vera shook her head. "Whether sword oil can be sold to Toussaint—I also need permission from others…"
Fringilla Vigo's smile froze instantly.
Vera really was difficult to deal with…
The Crimson Fox's own alchemy workshop—whether the potions she produced were sold to someone or not still needed the approval of others? Even if she was young, she couldn't be fooled like this…
She clearly just didn't want to sell to her!
Even so, Fringilla Vigo still tried her best to maintain a smile, stiffly nodding: "Then… alright, I…"
"It's not that I'm brushing you off," Vera saw through Fringilla Vigo's thoughts and interrupted her. "The sword oils—specifically, the Necrophage Oil and the Specter Oil—are my… apprentice Allen's work. He is a Witcher of the School of the Wolf. He needs to consider how sword oil might affect the livelihood of ordinary witchers."
"Therefore, I need to ask for his opinion."
In truth, she didn't need to. The formulas Allen left in the alchemy workshop had no restrictions placed on her.
As for affecting the livelihood of ordinary witchers…
The monsters of the Northern Continent were increasing at a speed visible to the naked eye, and the prophesied Child of Miracle—her child—was already stirring the currents of the times.
The time of Sword and Axe had arrived. Monsters could only increase, never decrease again.
The real reason for her refusal was that Fringilla Vigo's identity as a Toussaint noble made her think of other things.
Returning to one's roots—she and Sol were destined to step into death's abyss before Allen. When that time came, because of distance, the connection between Allen and Toussaint—their homeland—would be completely severed.
But he was the bloodline of Henrietta and the Triennes family…
The Henrietta and Triennes families had taken root in Toussaint for centuries. How could their descendant be completely cut off from Toussaint? At the very least…
He must have a home in Toussaint, a group of people who—perhaps not close—were still friends and relatives.
The Vigo family was a good point of entry.
The Crimson Fox's apprentice is a Witcher…
A Witcher invented potion formulas…
The Crimson Fox needs the apprentice's approval…
Fringilla Vigo froze on the spot the moment she heard this.
She stared blankly at the extremely serious Vera, unable to tell which part of this was more unbelievable.
"Are you… serious?" she asked.
"Do I look like I'm joking with you?"
Vera's brows furrowed.
Fringilla Vigo immediately shrank her neck like a frightened quail. "Then I… Then should I wait for your news in Toussaint? Or…"
Vera thought for a moment. "If you're in a hurry, wait until the council ends and follow me to the Maynaid Druid Circle. Allen has been there recently."
Because Toussaint was too far away, Fringilla Vigo—who had never heard the popular Temerian ballads—could only nod. A faint curiosity rose in her heart.
How could a Witcher who didn't sound very old create a potion like sword oil, and even be valued so highly by the Crimson Fox as an apprentice?
"Alright, Lady Vera." Fringilla Vigo nodded, with a faint, indescribable anticipation.
Vera looked at the curious and eager expression on Fringilla Vigo's pretty young face. For some reason, the images of Margarita Laux-Antille, Francesca Findabair, and Lyssa Hudson suddenly popped into her head—those three girls.
It… shouldn't… right? Vera looked at Fringilla Vigo again, uncertain.
"What is it, Lady Vera?" Fringilla Vigo shrank her neck again under Vera's strange gaze.
"Nothing." Vera shook her head.
After spending so much time with Philippa Eilhart, nothing had happened…
She shifted her gaze back to the increasingly noisy and tense council, reminding: "The meeting is about to enter the next stage…"
Fringilla Vigo blinked. "Next stage? What sta—"
Before she finished—
"Forrest Stewart Kingston, you cursed bastard, you're a disgrace!"
A furious roar echoed throughout the hall, followed by a streak of eerie green light shooting from the northern seats toward the southern seats.
It was as if a powder keg had been lit.
Brilliant, multicolored magical rays danced wildly across the air, hitting targets, being deflected, or missing entirely and striking innocent bystanders.
In an instant—
Four or five warlocks were turned into pig-headed figures. Those were likely the unlucky ones attending on behalf of high-ranking members—just like Fringilla Vigo.
Fringilla Vigo stared in shock. She never imagined that the high council members she admired for years would behave like this in what should have been a solemn meeting discussing the fate of the entire Northern Continent.
"Your uncle Artorius never warned you?" Vera waved her hand, dispelling a stray "turn-into-pig" spell flying at Fringilla Vigo.
"N-no…" Fringilla Vigo swallowed, quickly casting a protection-from-evil shield on herself.
Seeing her innocence and inexperience, Vera shook her head. "Such a bad child… exactly like when she was young…"
"Ve—"
"Enough!!!"
A cold, suppressed growl from the head seat interrupted Fringilla Vigo and crushed the chaos instantly.
The magical lights dancing in the sky vanished all at once, like flames drenched in seawater.
Everyone looked up at the furious figure seated on the high-backed chair.
That graceful yet iron-hard silhouette spoke a few cold lines, then declared: "Aretuza will dispatch all qualified sorceresses, and will invite the School of the Wolf and School of the Bear experts to join the expedition!"
"As expected…" Vera silently closed her eyes and let out a sigh.
........
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