"Grandmaster! Why are you here?"
Mentor Zebi Ortega's startled cry sent a flock of sparrows fluttering up from the deep, secluded forest, chirping noisily as they beat their wings through the hazy morning mist drifting among the trees.
Within that same mist—aside from the birds—stood an utterly ordinary little wooden cabin, its outer walls overgrown with moss and creeping vines.
There was no fence at all. It looked no different from a common hunter's hut at the edge of any woodland.
Yet this was the cabin where the devout Lydia had once lived. This place might conceal the Maiden of Spring, Gwendolyn; might conceal the Child of Miracle; might hide secrets about the White Frost and the end of the world…
But the first thing Allen's gaze fell upon was not the long-anticipated cabin—it was the strange being standing before it.
It was a reindeer, and yet it was hard to say that it truly was one.
Golden sunlight pierced the thinning morning mist, spilling through gaps between the leaves of the dense forest, illuminating those massive antlers—ebony-dark, draped with trailing moss.
Lapis-blue hues interwove across them. Rather than antlers, they seemed more like a crown bestowed upon this strange being.
Its sacred-white fur shimmered with a unique luster, outlining powerful, handsome muscles beneath.
Wild. Beautiful. Majestic.
Anyone who beheld it would unconsciously fall silent—just as a traveler returning from afar would stand in awe before the grandeur of mountains and rivers shaped by nature itself.
But Allen did not.
The instant his eyes landed on that magnificent creature, his heart skipped a beat, and every hair on his body stood on end.
He knew it. He had seen it before—by the lakeside deep within the Sacred Grove…
He knew what it was: the Grandmaster of the Mayena Druid Circle, the druid who had walked the furthest upon the druidic path, a demigod among mortals.
"Why would the Grandmaster of the Mayena Druid Circle appear here?"
Allen showed nothing on his face. His steps merely faltered for a fraction of a moment, while his thoughts raced at full speed.
He had long known of the Grandmaster's existence. Since he was studying the druidic path within the Mayena Druid Circle, he had naturally imagined that they might one day meet.
Saying such a thing aloud would likely earn him laughter.
After all, even those who lived within the Mayena Druid Circle might go decades without ever seeing the Grandmaster once—let alone an outsider who would only stay for a short while.
Yet Allen was that confident. Or rather, it wasn't confidence so much as a precise grasp of his own peculiar nature.
Not long after leaving the mountains, he had encountered the legendary sorcerer Hen Gedymdeith and Kaedwen's "Great-Eater" Henselt in Ban Ard. In Vengerberg, he had nearly been locked inside the city due to King Demavend II of Aedirn's conscription decree.
The High Priestess Ianna of the Temple of Melitele had personally performed an exorcism for him. Duke Mason, the great noble lord of Ellander, had granted him a knighthood. Tissaia de Vries had fought alongside him.
The master of Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization, Ortolan, had been perfectly content staying in Ban Ard, planning the future of the Sorcerer Kingdom with Sunny. Yet when Allen went to rescue free elves dozens of kilometers away, he somehow ended up confronting both Ortolan and Sunny head-on.
And going further back—meeting Sol and Vera at Kaer Morhen should not have been easy either, yet not long after completing the Trial of the Grasses, he had encountered them one after another.
It seemed that important figures always found their way into his path, by some winding coincidence.
One could argue that Sol and Vera shared his bloodline and were already watching over him. That the High Priestess Ianna's connection to him followed naturally from that, making it inevitable rather than accidental.
But the others did not.
And besides—did the inevitability of those encounters not itself say something?
Whether by coincidence or by something more metaphysical… destiny—someone like him, a "Child of Miracle" for whom accidents followed wherever he went, ought to possess at least a measure of self-awareness.
Thus, long before this—back when he had first learned of the Grandmaster's existence from other druids—he had already had a premonition that he would one day meet the true master of the Mayena Druid Circle, the one who stood at the summit of the druidic path and almost embodied the will of nature itself.
He had imagined it might be in the Sacred Grove, or at the boundary between the outer and inner rings.
But never had he imagined it would be now.
Here.
In this place.
"Did he sense something amiss about Lydia?"
"Or did he perceive that a secret of an ancient elven primal god lies hidden here?"
"Was he stirred by the disturbance last night, when the Mother of Nature answered the call of 'Gwendolyn'?"
-----------------------------------
"And me…"
"How should I respond?"
Thoughts spun endlessly through the witcher's mind. Acting on instinct, he took a few steps forward, conveniently placing himself behind Mentor Zebi Ortega.
He was now deeply grateful that, as a matter of habit, he had erected a mental barrier over his Sea of Consciousness using the Yrden Sign before leaving.
Otherwise, before the Grandmaster, his thoughts and secrets would have been laid bare.
Mentor Zebi Ortega did not notice the witcher's movement. The Grandmaster seemed not to either—its gaze merely brushed past Allen for an instant, light as a dragonfly skimming water.
That, instead, made Allen relax.
Not here for me… he thought.
"Your task has changed somewhat," the reindeer spoke in a voice that was aged and hoarse, yet immensely powerful. "I went to Crow's Nest and did not find you. Only after asking Simmons did I learn you might be here."
"My task has changed?" Zebi Ortega froze. "Has some great calamity occurred again in the Skellige Isles?"
The reindeer shook its head, but did not explain immediately. Its clear gaze—brimming with wisdom and vitality—shifted, settling upon Allen.
Allen remained outwardly calm, but his heart tightened.
"He is the witch—no, the druid apprentice Allen I mentioned to you," Zebi Ortega said, gently pulling the witcher's arm and drawing him out from behind himself. Pride filled his smile and eyes. "It was he who told me that survival of the fittest is the law of nature. Though he can no longer be called an apprentice…"
"Just last night, he officially broke through the barrier of grass and beheld the solemn form of the oak."
After speaking—
Before the reindeer could respond, Zebi Ortega turned to Allen and introduced him: "Allen, this is the Grandmaster of our Mayena Druid Circle… uh…"
His voice paused. He glanced at the Grandmaster. "No one knows his name. He himself is unwilling to say it. So you may simply call him Grandmaster as well."
Suppressing the irregular pounding of his heart under the reindeer's oppressive gaze, Allen obediently said, "Grandmaster."
The reindeer's aged yet sharp eyes slowly swept over him, raising goosebumps all over the witcher's body.
For a moment, he thought everything had been exposed.
"Already entered the Oakwood…" the reindeer nodded with almost human grace. Its massive antlers, thick with moss and vines, traced an elegant arc through the air. "Mm. Good child. You are very good."
"And you have taught him well, Ortega."
Zebi Ortega shook his head, about to speak—
But after a sideways glance at Allen, he paused, then pointed toward the cabin behind the reindeer.
"Allen, go and sort through Lydia's belongings first. The Grandmaster and I have some matters to discuss."
"And also—this afternoon, at the same place as before. Don't forget."
Allen froze for a moment, glanced at the Grandmaster, and asked, "Aren't you leaving today?"
"No rush," Zebi Ortega smiled. "Though you have entered the Oakwood and formally set foot upon the druidic path, the road ahead is still long. For a sapling to grow straight and upright, the earliest stage is the most important."
"If you do not correct the direction of its branches, do not learn how to absorb sunlight properly, then once it has grown crooked, it will not be easy to return to the right path."
"You are talented. Do not waste that talent."
Allen met Zebi Ortega's sincere gaze for several seconds, then nodded with complicated emotions.
"I understand, Mentor Zebi Ortega. I will arrive on time in the afternoon."
Zebi Ortega nodded in satisfaction, patted the witcher's head, and then departed with the Grandmaster, leaving the secluded woodland behind.
"Phew…"
Allen watched their figures disappear into the dense forest and finally let out a long breath.
The Grandmaster did not emanate the sinister, oppressive aura common to massive monsters or vessels of evil gods. The witcher had not sensed anything resembling magical pressure or coercion from him at all.
Yet when the reindeer's seemingly ordinary, aged eyes fell upon him, Allen felt as though every secret in his body had been stripped bare.
That feeling…
Was very unpleasant.
Fortunately.
The Grandmaster was not here for him.
And that made sense. No matter how mysterious and powerful the Grandmaster was, he was still only a druid.
Even Hen Gedymdeith—who stood at the pinnacle of the Northern Continent's supernatural world—had been undone by his own apprentices and factions. How could this world possibly contain someone who could see through every secret at a glance?
Not even Eredin Bréacc Glas, King of the Wild Hunt, could do that.
"…Otherwise, Allen wouldn't have survived."
"Still, once Mentor Zebi Ortega leaves, I should find an excuse to leave Mayena as well."
As he walked toward the cabin, Allen thought to himself.
He had already stepped onto the druidic path. What had happened in the Sacred Grove months ago finally had an explanation. The Carno Beast wasn't something that could be found anytime soon, and even if the Mayena Druid Circle did locate it, they could only gather information indirectly. Breaking through the Aspen Realm would likely take years.
But according to the challenge issued when Eredin Bréacc Glas, King of the Wild Hunt, first appeared in the Passolon Forest, this world had less than two years left.
Right now, he needed to grow stronger as fast as possible.
Reaching the Great Druid realm was unlikely in the short term; its priority would have to be pushed back.
By that reckoning, he had already done nearly everything he could in the Mayena Druid Circle. Once Lydia's matter—and that of Gwendolyn, the Maiden of Spring—were resolved, it would be time to return to Kaer Morhen and prepare for the expedition to the Valley of Thousand Monsters.
This time, the Wolf School would probably dispatch a large number of witchers. It would be an excellent opportunity for the monster-hunting legion to make its debut and grow in strength…
Among his five-dimensional attributes, only Mystery had yet to reach its maximum. But the secondary mutation unique to him couldn't wait until all attributes were maxed out before being researched—that would waste too much time…
Hmm…
Before returning to Kaer Morhen, it would be best to visit the Temple of Melitele again. There were still quite a few treasure chests he hadn't opened…
The skills obtained from the Immortal One's Memory Crystals now cost dramatically less to unlock, but with the experience orbs he had left, he could just about unlock the Standard Cavalry Sabre Techniques of the Red Riders. He badly needed to recover a bit…
"Tap, tap, tap…"
The witcher walked toward the dilapidated cabin, his thoughts already drifting back to Kaer Morhen.
It wasn't until the wooden door let out a creaking groan—creeeak—that his mind snapped back.
Inside was a shabby, cluttered room piled high with parchment, metal ores, stone tablets, and all sorts of strange objects. It was probably meant to be a living room?
Allen wasn't entirely sure—this could hardly be called a place for receiving guests.
"Warehouse" might be a more accurate word.
From this room, four doors led elsewhere. Three opened into true storage rooms, likewise crammed full of miscellaneous items. Only one seemed to lead to a combined bedroom and study.
There was a stone-built bed platform with wooden planks on top, long since rotted and riddled with wormholes, and a simple desk that had been cleaned spotlessly.
On the desk sat only a single candlestick—nothing else.
It looked very much like the owner of the house had packed up and gone on a long journey.
Coupled with the fact that none of the rooms showed any traces of blood…
No wonder the druids had assumed Lydia left without saying goodbye.
And another thing—
Aside from an oil painting hanging on one wall, seemingly depicting a forest in full bloom, it was hard to tell from the décor that an elven sorceress had once lived here.
Of course.
Allen hadn't seen many elven sorceresses' rooms. To be precise, only Ida Emean and Francesca Findabair's—but they both used incense, etched lanterns, paintings, sculptures, and other small, portable ornaments to lend refinement to their living spaces.
Though numerous, such items were no burden at all to powerful elven sorceresses.
And from what Allen understood, decorating even a temporary residence was no small matter to elven women.
Elegance, dignity, and nobility—these were the mediums through which they remembered the former glory of the People of the Hills, and also reminders not to forget the past.
That said, while the cabin's furnishings were decidedly un–People-of-the-hills, they weren't as dust-choked as Mentor Zebi Ortega had described. Someone had clearly cleaned the place ahead of time.
"So here's the problem…"
With his arms folded, Allen surveyed the parchment, stone slabs, etchings, and ores filling the four rooms, feeling a headache coming on.
"With so much stuff, where do I even begin?"
As he pondered this, the morning slipped away unnoticed, and it was already time for Mentor Zebi Ortega's final lesson.
Finding something the druids themselves had overlooked was never going to be easy anyway, so Allen had prepared for this.
Seeing that it was getting late, he left Lydia's cabin and headed toward the agreed-upon classroom.
What he hadn't expected, however…
Was that when he arrived, the one waiting there was not Mentor Zebi Ortega.
Instead, it was Simmons, Olga—and between them, the target of their excited, eager gazes: a white-haired, white-bearded druid Allen had never seen before.
Hearing movement, the druid turned his head toward Allen and smiled kindly.
"Good child… we meet again."
.......
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