"Allen, you said this morning that you were looking for an elf who once lived in the Mayena Druid Circle?"
Hearing this, Allen was momentarily stunned.
That morning, when seeing off Jerome Moreau, he had happened to run into Zebi Ortega returning from outside with several druids. Acting on a sudden impulse, after Jerome Moreau left, he sighed a few words about how "Master Jerome's mother once lived in the Mayena Druid Circle…"
Then he casually asked Simmons and Olga about it, naturally setting up a lead to make later inquiries easier. In truth, it was only one or two sentences.
He hadn't expected Zebi Ortega to bring it up at this moment.
"That's right," Allen suppressed the excitement in his heart and nodded calmly. "She is the mother of Master Jerome Moreau of the Griffin School, the witcher master who left this morning. I only know that her name was Lydia. Instructor Ortega, did you know her?"
Zebi Ortega did not answer, but instead asked, "However, I've heard that once a witcher becomes a witcher, he no longer has any fate-bound ties to his former blood relations…"
The druid did not finish his sentence.
Understanding what he meant, Allen pondered for a moment. After silently apologizing to Jerome Moreau in his heart, he briefly recounted how he had found Jerome Moreau, how Jerome Moreau had been imprisoned by his father for decades, and the premonitions he had gained from the giant golem about how the Moru colossus had been created.
"What a pitiful child," Zebi Ortega said, lowering his brows and stroking his beard.
Simmons and Olga, meanwhile, were indignant at Tomas Moreau's madness—so cruel as not to spare even his own son.
"Even cultists who sacrifice their emotions to an evil god aren't as ruthless as Tomas Moreau, to treat his own flesh and blood like that."
"Tomas Moreau has already suffered the punishment he deserved," Allen said softly, then looked at Zebi Ortega. "The information that Lydia once lived in the Mayena Druid Circle—I found it from the colossus that imprisoned Master Jerome. Master Jerome himself didn't know."
No wonder Jerome Moreau hadn't shown anything unusual these past few days… Zebi Ortega, Simmons, and Olga nodded.
Allen continued, "At the time, I actually hesitated over whether to tell Master Jerome this. For one thing, that Lydia fell victim to Tomas Moreau is ultimately just a premonition and conjecture I got from the golem. Those fragmentary images can't prove that Lydia truly passed away."
"Secondly, revealing such uncertain news would only bring Jerome more pain. He might then become obsessed with searching for his mother's whereabouts, and if it were later confirmed, that would be yet another blow."
"But…"
Allen paused, then looked earnestly into Zebi Ortega's aged yet wise, dark eyes.
"Although, as you said just now, once a witcher becomes a witcher, he no longer has any fate-bound ties to his former blood relations…"
"Still, witchers are witchers, but they are also flesh-and-blood humans. We occasionally think of the families we once had, want to know where they ended up, what became of them…"
"Jerome has helped me a great deal."
"So I want to help him find Lydia, at least to confirm whether she is alive or dead. If she truly met with misfortune, then to gather her remains."
"And then, at an appropriate time, tell him everything…"
"I think it's best for this matter to be handled by an outsider like me…"
Under the oak tree, silence lingered for a moment.
Golden sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, scattering mottled patches of light across the young witcher's short-bearded face, swaying with the wind.
"You are a kind child."
The lines carved by time into Zebi Ortega's face creased into a gentle warmth.
He lightly patted Allen on the shoulder. His dark eyes turned, and he suddenly changed the subject. "I don't believe that the benevolent Mother Nature would reject a child like you."
Allen's body stiffened at the words.
"Try meditating again. Don't give up so quickly—perhaps you're only lacking a bit of time," Zebi Ortega said seriously.
"I will," Allen nodded instinctively, then couldn't help asking, "Then Lydia?"
Zebi Ortega did not answer. After glancing at the sky, he stood up. "It's almost sunset. Today's lesson will end here…"
"As for Lydia…"
He blinked at Allen. "That was already something from decades ago. You'll have to forgive an old man—he needs some time to leaf through those memories that have been gnawed into mottled yellow by the worms of time."
"Tomorrow, or at the latest the day after, before I leave the Mayena Druid Circle, I'll give you everything I can find about Lydia."
"Thank you, Instructor Ortega," Allen said as he stood up from the grass, his gratitude utterly sincere.
Zebi Ortega smiled and waved his hand. "Druids, too, are flesh-and-blood humans."
Allen was taken aback, opening his mouth.
But before he could say anything more, Zebi Ortega blinked at him again.
With a wave of his wooden staff, he transformed into a raven, flapping its black wings that shimmered with iridescent light in the setting sun, and flew into the sea of forest.
"Don't forget to meditate," the aged, kindly voice echoed through the woodland.
—
After Zebi Ortega left, Allen headed toward the outer ring together with Simmons and Olga.
In fact, the place where Zebi Ortega taught was also in the outer ring of the Mayena Druid Circle—just an oak grove at the edge of the outer ring, closest to the inner ring.
It was said that in this oak grove, the success rate of one's first meditation was the highest in the outer ring.
A bit mystical, because when they arrived, the oak grove was empty.
Simmons and Olga each had their own residences in the outer ring, separate from Allen's, so the three soon parted ways.
In a daze, walking beneath the brilliant golden glow of the sunset, Allen felt as though he had returned to his previous life. Back then, after school, it had been much the same—walking into the sunset with friends, until he alone would continue back to the orphanage.
With thoughts turning over endlessly in his heart, Allen returned to the cluster of tree houses.
The remains of last night's bonfire were still there: charred logs piled in the clearing between the tree houses and the forest, scattered bits of roasted meat and bones, crushed wooden cups and splinters…
As he passed by, besides the scorched, resinous scent of burned pine, he could also smell a faint trace of wine.
The joy and abandon of the feast seemed to rise before his eyes with every step.
Vesemir and Danthe had sat cross-legged on the ground, boasting to Jerome Moreau. Francesca Findabair and Mary each had their own thoughts, as if both had something to say to him, yet they restrained each other and simply drank their wine in silence.
Simmons and Olga, as "newcomers," were somewhat reserved at first, but soon blended in with everyone over shared cups of wine.
By the time the drinking reached its most uninhibited point, they even issued a provocative challenge to Korin—only to be jolted awake by a single look from Visenna.
Visenna seemed not to have been drinking. Allen couldn't quite remember.
He only remembered that Visenna appeared to be stroking her belly and had looked at him several times. It was very likely that she truly was pregnant.
But at the time, he thought it over and said nothing.
What was there to say?
Because of his existence, fate had long since changed.
The child in Visenna's womb might still be that Geralt, but the fates of Visenna and Korin had already become unclear and tangled.
In the story, Korin died at the hands of bandits serving the renegade druid Fregenal, who had stolen forbidden druidic arts. Now, they had already left the Amell Mountains—it was hard to imagine Korin turning back.
Yet even if Korin might not die as he did in the story, the conflict between Visenna and Korin had gradually become visible to the naked eye.
Visenna was the mistress of the Mayena Druid Circle. She had no intention of abandoning the Circle to run away with Korin, and Korin's life here, frankly speaking, was not good.
Just as Zebi Ortega had said, druids too are flesh-and-blood humans.
Druids do not advocate abstinence; on the contrary, they revere more natural, wild desires.
The beautiful mistress of the Mayena Druid Circle, on this beautiful land, had countless admirers—thus Korin had countless rivals.
Challenges like the one at yesterday's banquet had already happened countless times over these past few days.
Allen could tell that Korin already intended to leave—and that he would definitely do so.
Once he left the Mayena Druid Circle, a wandering knight could meet all kinds of deaths, whether traditional or bizarre.
Allen would offer some help. After all, Visenna and Korin were his lifesavers. But he could not choose a life path for them.
Even if Korin managed to survive, would Visenna—the mistress of the Mayena Druid Circle—still not send Geralt to Kaer Morhen in the end?
No one knew.
"Just do what I can…"
Allen let out a soft sigh and crossed the clearing between the tree houses and the forest.
There was no need to clean up the leftover food and wine. The natural cycle within the druid circle would soon metabolize it all.
The tree houses were still arranged in orderly layers around the roots of the oaks. The flower beds and herb gardens—tulips, daisies, roses, sage, safflower…—were all still blooming exuberantly.
It was just that, with Vesemir, Danthe, and that whole group gone, much of the sense of life had faded, leaving the witcher feeling unaccustomed for a time.
If it were a few days earlier, he would have seen Vesemir and Danthe asking Jerome Moreau for pointers on swordsmanship and Signs, a group of long-bearded druids gathered around cheering. If Korin were there as well, he would provoke him into a duel, only to be chased off by Visenna…
Francesca Findabair and Mary would also time it just right to push open the door and greet them.
Ida Emean would sometimes stand together with Francesca Findabair, and sometimes wait for him inside the house, teaching him the Elder Speech while the sky had not yet darkened…
And now…
In front of the tree house, there was nothing but emptiness.
Allen shook his head, casting off the strange feeling in his mind and filling it instead with matters at hand:
"Vera has already been gone four or five days. The meeting about the expedition to the Valley of Thousand Monsters should have a result by now… I wonder what the final agenda will be…"
"Convincing Vera to agree to let me go is still an issue, though it's not too difficult. Vera always agrees in the end—it just takes some effort… I wonder whether Tissaia will come back with Vera…"
"If there's an expedition to the Valley of Thousand Monsters, it'll probably affect the original plan for me to succeed as Grandmaster of the Wolf School in winter…"
"Then again, if the expedition needs enough witchers, we could ask Sol to arrange some unfamiliar witchers and witcher masters… Hmm, that might actually be better… the bond between warriors is always best forged in battle…"
"But before that, I still need to find the relics of Jerome's mother, Lydia. It'd be best if I could also find clues about the Maiden of Spring, Gwendolyn, and the prophetess Ithlinne…"
"If only I could find the rune clue Ithlinne used to let me traverse time—then I wouldn't need to go looking for Vilgefortz…"
"I don't know if it's because the image of Vilgefortz from my past life's story is too deeply ingrained, but I really can't bring myself to like that deferential genius mage. It always feels like he's plotting something…"
"Then again, I don't know what stimulated Vilgefortz—he actually mastered a staff technique that even Vesemir praised…"
-----------------------------------
Allen let the tangled thoughts fill his mind. He had long been used to thinking this way.
But just before opening the wooden door to his small tree house, his body suddenly halted, and he crouched down.
Several plump gray cats were blocking the doorway, purring loudly as they slept soundly.
"Being a cat really is better—no need to think about so many troublesome things…"
Allen sighed with emotion and rubbed one of the sleeping fat cats. After being disturbed, the cat grumbled a few times in displeasure. Allen then picked up the cats one by one and gently placed them into the tulip bed beside the door.
One of them didn't even wake up the whole time—just rolled over and started purring again in the flower bed.
Amused, Allen shook his head, gave the cats a few more strokes, deliberately waking them all up, and only then stood up to open the door.
Bang~
The wooden door closed softly, shutting the now-annoyed fat cats outside.
Allen looked around the familiar yet unfamiliar room. After letting out a long breath, the question arose.
What should he do next?
Over these past few days, with Vera's and Ida Emean's teaching, combined with what foundation he already had, although his Elder Speech still hadn't reached the level Ida Emean, basic communication was no longer a problem. Further progress, however, required coherent and continuous instruction.
Ida Emean's departure was partly due to the summons of the Free Elves. The Hill Folk were in a difficult situation now, and a proficient speaker was crucial, whether for guarding against external threats or stabilizing a wavering people.
If Allen hadn't just saved the Free Elves once, Ida Emean would never have stayed this long.
On the other hand, deeper research into the Elder Speech had begun to involve specific directions. Vera wouldn't be gone for long anyway, so it was better to stop here for now.
The Elder Speech should be sufficient to deal with the memory crystals of the long-lived.
After thinking it over, Allen did not open the Monster Hunt journal.
He took off his leather boots, sat cross-legged on the bed board, and listened carefully for a while to the movements around the cabin.
After confirming that no one was approaching, he took a deep breath and began to breathe rhythmically, following the cadence taught by Zebi Ortega.
Unlike when he was in front of Zebi Ortega, almost at the very instant his breathing became rhythmic, the witcher's spirit connected to a benevolent and majestic will.
She was the mother of all living beings.
She was the will of nature.
She was life—and also annihilation…
Sensing that vast will, the witcher fell silent for a long while, then let out a faint sigh: "…I really am a despicable person."
..................
(T/N: The Kayran was too difficult to kill in normal difficulty, after 1 hour of trying had to switch to easy difficulty to kill it.)
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