"This year is much colder than usual—"
Letho let out a soft breath.
A dense plume of white mist burst forth, like a dragon's frosty breath, striking the back of his companion's head.
The tied gray-brown long hair instantly gathered moisture, which quickly condensed into frost.
"Mm. Even colder than I expected," Letho nodded.
His companion steadied himself against the trunk of a twisted deciduous maple beside the Killer's Path, then turned back and shot Letho a helpless glance.
"Letho, do you have any idea how much torture the smell of digestive fluids mixed with overnight fermented steak and wine is to a Witcher's sense of smell?"
"Don't be like that, Vesemir," Letho said as he strode effortlessly along the narrow, treacherous path, slinging an arm around his companion's shoulders. Laughing, he blew a few more breaths at him. "That was butter-fried steak from the Lod 'Limp Right Foot' Inn, and the white wine was their own homemade brew."
"I have to say, Kaedwen's grapes may not compare to Toussaint's, but sour white wine with butter-fried steak is truly superb—"
"Don't believe me? Smell it again—"
"Get lost!" Vesemir's face was expressionless as he threw a punch the moment Letho's grinning face came too close.
The fist cut through the air with a shrill boom, with no restraint at all.
Letho burst out laughing, dodged the punch, and did a backflip, landing steadily on a maple branch no thicker than an average man's forearm.
The branch swayed violently, bending into an exaggerated arc—but it didn't break.
Vesemir couldn't be bothered with Letho's childish antics. He glanced at the Witcher making faces in the tree, snorted coldly, and warned him:
"Vera will also be wintering at Kaer Morhen this year. If you keep acting this recklessly, you might not even get a chance to flee down the mountain. You'll be turned straight into a leech and spend the winter in a glass bottle."
"I'm telling you, just two or three months ago, Lady Vera turned a foul-mouthed bard into a leech."
The grin on Letho's face instantly turned bitter.
Recalling last winter's experience, he shuddered all over. Teasing Vesemir to pass the time immediately lost its appeal.
"Tap—"
He tugged hard on the bent branch with his right arm, using the rebound to swing back down beside Vesemir.
"Aren't you afraid that the one mocking the Crimson Fox right now isn't me, but you? Or do you think that just because you're a Witcher master, you can ignore leech-transformation magic?"
Of course I'm not afraid—Vesemir thought. I'm the teacher of Vera and Sol's child, and I taught him so well—well—though Allen's growth doesn't have that much to do with me.
Besides, what's wrong with stating a few facts and making a couple of jokes?
Naturally, he didn't reply that way to big-mouthed Letho. Instead, he looked up at the trees whose fiery red maple leaves had long since frozen away, leaving only bare branches, and changed the subject.
"But this year really is much colder than last year. It should be a side effect of water-element enrichment."
Water-element enrichment—since when did Vesemir sound so… academic? Letho raised an eyebrow.
"Who told you that?"
"Lady Tissaia de Vries," Vesemir didn't hide it. "She came to Kaer Morhen a few months ago and mentioned it once. She said the tides of magic across the entire Northern Continent are recovering at an astonishing speed, especially the water element."
"Lower temperatures, longer winters, restless monsters—and it may even bring about considerable mutations—"
"You make it sound like the White Frost from Ithlinne's Prophecy is coming," Letho gave a dry laugh, feeling a bit uneasy. "But come to think of it, we really did run into quite a lot of drowners along the way—far more than usual—"
White Frost—
Vesemir's steps halted as he narrowed his eyes in thought.
No one knew what the White Frost truly was, but taken literally, the current changes on the Northern Continent really did resemble it somewhat—
Just an illusion, probably—
Vesemir shook his head, casting aside the ominous thought, and asked:
"The commission for the expedition to Dol Dhu Lokke has most likely already been delivered to the School. Are you planning to take part?"
"What do you think?" Letho rolled his eyes. "That's the Valley of Thousand Monsters, Dol Dhu Lokke. What Witcher could miss such a grand hunt?"
"I rushed back as soon as I heard the news from the Hengforsalliance. Otherwise, at this time, I'd probably still be in the Nightingale Red Hall in Malleore."
"But—"
Letho paused and sighed.
"There aren't many days left before the Sorcerers' Brotherhood's scheduled assembly."
"We came back this late… I'm afraid we're already too late—"
"No, wait—"
"You Witcher masters want to join, and the Sorcerers' Brotherhood would welcome you with open arms. But for us, it's much harder—"
He glanced at Vesemir, sighed enviously.
"Sigh…"
"I really don't know when I'll be able to become the next Witcher Master of the Wolf School—"
There was a hint of dejection in Letho's voice.
Although after becoming a Witcher master, most commissions' bounties would have to be handed over to the School, and life would probably be less free than it was now—
But what Witcher didn't have ambitions?
Vesemir gently patted Letho on the shoulder.
"Your strength is improving quickly, and you're still young. You'll have your chance."
Letho just shook his head and said nothing, falling into a rare silence.
Vesemir grabbed hold of tangled plant roots jutting out of the slope and climbed up. Glancing sideways at the dispirited Letho, he couldn't think of any comforting words either.
Allen becoming a Witcher master at the age of fourteen was, after all, not a normal case—
For ordinary Wolf School Witchers—and even for those of the Griffin, Bear, and Viper Schools—for all Witchers of the Northern Continent, people like Letho were the norm.
Is hunting a large monster difficult?
Of course it is. But in truth, there are quite a few Witchers capable of hunting alone.
Common large monsters are all recorded within the Schools—body length, weight, habits, hide defenses, attack methods. In each School's library, Witchers can find countless records on large monsters.
Against a single monster, if one finds the right method and then trains through commissions and real combat for twenty or thirty years, even without exceptional talent, there is still a chance to hunt a large monster.
But the problem is—where do you find just the right commission?
Commissions for large monsters are usually entrusted only to Witcher masters. Who would pay a high price to hire an ordinary Witcher?
And if the monster were enraged, causing even greater casualties and destruction, who would bear the responsibility?
The Witcher?
Impossible. A reckless Witcher would be the first to die.
So ordinary Witchers can only rely on luck.
By chance encountering a familiar large monster they are confident in, with the situation being so urgent that the client cannot afford to wait.
But there are so many types of large monsters, and so few of them—where are all those "coincidences" supposed to come from?
And the monster described in a commission doesn't necessarily match the real one.
Intentional or unintentional misinformation, lies, bait, power struggles—real commissions are filled with countless unrelated factors mixed together.
A Witcher's life, after all, is only lived once.
As for not taking commissions, gathering information and hunting a suitable monster on one's own—
Leaving aside the lack of a commission, the enormous cost of weapons, equipment, potions, tools, and healing required to hunt a large monster is impossible to recoup. It's a pure loss.
Even specific commissions often contain incorrect information. For monsters that have had little contact with humans, how could one even be sure it was the one they wanted?
The danger multiplies.
Moreover, hunting monsters that have not harmed humans solely for the title of Witcher master can hardly be called honor befitting that title.
In reality, very few Witcher masters achieved their status for the sake of the name. Most were forced into it—narrow paths, chance encounters, and pyrrhic victories.
For a Witcher to become a Witcher master is extremely, extremely difficult—
"Rustle—rustle—"
An uncommon silence fell between the two Witchers.
That silence stretched from the mountain foot along the Killer's Path, all the way until the gray-white walls of the Ancient Sea Fortress appeared at the end of the mountain road. It lasted until Letho walked into Kaer Morhen without even noticing the unusually strict guards on the walls.
"Maybe, Letho—" Vesemir hesitated in the dim gate tower, his expression shifting back and forth. "You could ask Allen— I mean—maybe you—"
He chose his words carefully, which made Letho especially curious.
"What is it, Vesemir? Just say it. Why are you being so long-winded?"
"If Allen needs help, just say so."
Vesemir took a deep breath and placed both hands on Letho's shoulders.
"Letho, do you trust me?"
"O—of course," Letho froze for a moment, unaccustomed to Vesemir's serious demeanor, and was about to crack a joke.
Then his gaze suddenly met Vesemir's amber, cat-like eyes. Something shone there, making him unconsciously grow serious as well. He restrained his smile and said solemnly:
"Of course. You saved my life. If I don't trust you, who can I trust?"
"Then go find Allen, and join his Witcher Corps," Vesemir said.
"Witcher Corps?" Letho was taken aback. "You mean that thing Allen set up like a child's game—"
"That's not a child's game," Vesemir cut him off. "That is your hope of becoming a Witcher master. If you want to become one, then trust me. Join Allen's Witcher Corps. You won't regret this decision."
Join Allen's Witcher Corps? Wouldn't that mean calling a fourteen-year-old kid 'Commander'?—
Letho instinctively wanted to refuse.
He had no prejudice against Allen, and in fact admired his achievements greatly, but taking orders from a fourteen-year-old—
Letho shook his head inwardly.
But—
Looking into Vesemir's amber eyes, a sudden intuition surged in Letho's heart.
What Vesemir said—absurd as it sounded—might actually be true.
Allen really could make him a Witcher master!
"—Bond, your breathing is too slow. Focus. Feel your heartbeat, your thoughts, your breath. Imagine yourself as a bundle of hemp fibers. You're stretching—but not just stretching yourself. You're tensing up, but not because of yourself—"
"—Hugh, you're a bit fast, but much better than last time. That's real progress—"
"—Ice—Clay—Silo—"
That voice—was that Allen?
Letho exchanged a glance with Vesemir and looked in the direction the voice came from.
At the end of the main road leading to the keep, a group of people were gathered around the training ground, seemingly doing something.
Allen teaching apprentices—no—teaching Hughes and the others something? He mentioned breathing, so swordsmanship? But feeling heartbeats and thoughts—what kind of strange teaching method was that? And hemp rope, fiber bundles—
Letho looked at Vesemir. Vesemir gently shook his head and walked along the main road.
After a moment's thought, Letho followed.
As they drew closer, Letho gradually saw the scene in the apprentice training ground clearly.
Allen, Bond, Hugh, Fred, Clay, Erni—and—hm—Mary as well. All twelve members of the Witcher Corps were standing in the training ground in a strange formation.
This formation should have been chaotic, but after watching for a while, Letho suddenly sensed a peculiar rhythm—an illusion that these eleven people—excluding Mary—were almost one entity—
Or perhaps it wasn't an illusion at all?
"Wait—Vesemir—" Letho rubbed his eyes in confusion. "Doesn't this apprentice training ground feel… different?"
Vesemir frowned.
"It does seem different."
It being slightly larger than the original apprentice training ground was only a minor detail. More striking was that the fence was no longer the yellow-brown color of sun-bleached, wind-weathered spruce, cracked with age, but instead a purplish black sheen. There didn't seem to be any wood of that color on the Northern Continent; it must have undergone some kind of special treatment.
And aside from the fence, there were several massive stones as tall as a person. On their surfaces seemed to be carved patterns resembling runes—standing upright in the four directions of the training ground according to some kind of rule.
"Buzz—"
The School medallion on his chest gave a soft hum.
What are they doing?
Curiosity stirred in both Letho's and Vesemir's hearts.
"——Remember, you are one. While controlling your own frequency, don't forget your teammates beside you——" As the distance closed, Allen's voice became clearer. "The application of the Standard Synchronization Breathing Technique isn't that hard. Don't think of it as maintaining two skills at the same time. It's just releasing a Sign while breathing, that's all——"
"Do you all stop breathing when you use the Quen or Igni Signs?"
Standard Synchronization Breathing Technique—
Hearing this, Letho immediately realized this wasn't some Wolf School two-handed sword technique or Sign art. It was most likely a brand-new skill created by Allen himself.
Peeping at another's techniques without consent was not something a venerable witcher elder ought to do.
"Uh, Vesemir, maybe we should avoid this——"
Letho lightly patted Vesemir's arm, about to bypass the apprentice training ground, when he heard Allen give an instruction:
"——Mary, this time help me sense with your mental power, especially those few just now——"
"Understood, Captain."
"Mm. Everyone! Now follow me and try once more!"
The very next second—
"Buzz!"
The School medallion suddenly leapt out from Letho's collar.
A blinding golden light erupted from the apprentice training ground, triggering Letho's instinctive vigilance as he turned to look back.
And then—
He saw a golden sun, slowly rising before the ancient fortress of Kaer Morhen—
....
📢Advanced chapters on p@treaon📢
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1. Advanced chapters of The Witcher: Wolf School's HuntingNotes.
2. Advanced chapters of Advanced Guide for Veteran Gunpla Builders.
3. Advanced chapters of In MyGO!!!!!, Producing MyGO!!!!!.