They've come!
Allen and Sol at his side exchanged a glance almost simultaneously, ripples flashing in their eyes with the same emotion.
The witchers of the School of the Bear had only just arrived, and the Sorcerers' Brotherhood had already issued an emergency summons without delay.
There was no need to guess—it was certainly for the final mobilization meeting before the expedition, to assign responsibilities.
The Sorcerers' Brotherhood—or rather, Tissaia de Vries—could not even wait to follow convention and allow the bear witchers to rest another night. That meant the expedition would most likely begin today—no—
Allen tilted his head to listen. Noisy clamor drifted through the air.
The ground trembled faintly, as though a large force was on the march.
Allen froze for a moment. The Sorcerers' Brotherhood was unwilling to wait even for the mobilization meeting.
"Has someone already set out?"
Erland of Larvik, who had sensed it as well, asked directly.
Maeve nodded. "The Eye of Judgment and Arcane Crescent have both departed the outpost, bringing logistical supplies, marching toward Dol Dhu Lokke.
The Eye of Judgment is the armed organization directly under the Sorcerers' Brotherhood. Ordinarily, it patrols the Northern Continent on behalf of the Brotherhood, investigating and judging unlawful acts committed by extraordinary factions.
It is generally composed of the most talented young sorcerers of the Brotherhood—those gifted in combat, investigation, concealment, and other practical disciplines.
Philippa Eilhart once belonged to this organization.
Arcane Crescent, on the other hand, is Aretuza's semi-armed organization, entirely made up of outstanding graduates skilled in practical combat.
It's somewhat like the Wolf School's witcher's corps—undertaking certain patrol and defensive duties—but ordinarily still engaged in normal magical research and study, so it is considered semi-armed."
One belonged to the Sorcerers' Brotherhood, the other to Aretuza.
Clearly, Tissaia de Vries had already dispatched nearly all the armed forces she could mobilize.
Of course.
The outpost had originally been an abandoned border fortress of Maribor. In truth, it was still quite a distance from the truly dangerous region of Dol Dhu Lokke.
Therefore, Tissaia de Vries was certainly not sending the Eye of Judgment and Arcane Crescent as the vanguard of the expedition. Rather, she was creating an atmosphere of tension—pressuring the other extraordinary factions about to attend the mobilization meeting.
Our direct armed forces of the Sorcerers' Brotherhood and Aretuza have already begun marching—what are you "mercenaries" who rely on the Brotherhood waiting for?!!
In truth, even knowing Tissaia's intentions, as he listened to the rumbling noise and felt the tremor beneath his feet, Allen's heartbeat quickened uncontrollably, as though he could smell the smoke of war.
"Please have the Wolf School and the Griffin School each select two people to attend the Privy Council's emergency summons with me!"
"Or will it be only Grandmaster Sol and Grandmaster Erland?"
The sorceress Maeve urged.
"Lucien, come with me." Erland of Larvik considered briefly before quickly choosing his companion.
Sol turned back, his gaze pausing on Allen before shifting to Vesemir. "Vese—"
"I'll go," Allen interjected proactively, cutting Sol off.
The other witchers of the Griffin School and the Wolf School were all stunned.
Everyone knew that among the outpost, the greatest concentration of malice was directed at Allen. He was practically the core of the vortex of hostility.
It was not only Redania and the Rogrides family who had displayed open malice.
There would only be more, not fewer, sorcerers coveting the body of a genius witcher and his unique technique for taming great griffins.
The former might very well outnumber the latter.
Sol could not help but advise, "Allen, the Crowned Silver Eagle and Redania will both attend. Why don't you stay and wait until we return?"
"Yes, Allen," Erland added, worried he was acting on impulse. "You have a long, long time ahead of you. There's no need to rush this moment."
Allen shook his head. "I'm not acting on impulse. I've thought it through clearly."
"Chief, Grandmaster Erland, we are all witchers. We all know that in a moment of crisis, the most foolish act is to turn one's back on a monster."
"Even the weakest Drowner would not fear a fleeing witcher master."
"Malice cannot be avoided. The more one dodges it, the denser it becomes. I must face them directly."
Erland of Larvik was unconvinced, lips parting as though to say more.
But Sol paused, then asked before Erland could speak, "Are you certain?"
Allen nodded firmly.
Sol inclined his head, then turned to the sorceress Maeve. "Wolf School—Sol and Allen."
"Al—alright, please follow me—" Maeve hesitated a moment, then stepped into the portal that had yet to dissipate.
Sol and Allen followed closely behind.
Only then did Erland snap out of his surprise at Sol's decisiveness. He glanced at Vesemir, Valerius, and Gregor, his expression seeming to ask: Is this how father and son have always interacted?
"We only learned of their relationship not long ago ourselves." Vesemir shrugged with an awkward smile.
Erland shook his head lightly inwardly.
But since the boy's biological father had agreed, what could he, an outsider, do?
He nodded slightly to the other Griffin School witchers, then entered the portal with Lucien.
Tap, tap, tap
The moment Allen stepped out of the portal, the dust permeating the air made him narrow his eyes slightly. Then came the tremor of the ground, chaotic footsteps, and the hoarse buzzing of the school medallions.
The portal had not sent them to the assembly hall, but to the plaza before the main keep of the outpost, built of gray-white stone bricks.
Below the steps beside them, a large group of sorcerers clad in black robes and hooded cloaks, their faces obscured by shadow, were marching toward the outpost's eastern gate.
The gray haze in the air had been stirred up by the killing intent in their steps.
The witchers of the Griffin and Wolf Schools were merely drawn by the commotion and, after a glance, thought little of it.
But the sorcerers from other factions emerging from the opened portals turned pale at the sight, their faces instantly drained of color like corpses.
"They are the Eye of Judgment," Maeve whispered beside Allen, pride unmistakable on her face.
No wonder they're like mice seeing a cat, Allen thought wryly. The Eye of Judgment had judged many of the very sorcerers now stepping through those portals. The bloodline suppression was almost palpable.
Placing the portals here was Tissaia de Vries's way of establishing authority at the conference.
And even if that intention was laid bare, the effect was undeniably excellent.
Almost every sorcerer who stepped out of a portal, upon seeing the marching Eye of Judgment, did not even glance around to see who else was present, but hurried straight into the castle under the guidance of a sorceress.
Of course, there were exceptions. For example—
"Isn't this the famous God-Slayer? Where have you been hiding lately?"
"How is it that we only see Grandmaster Sol and Grandmaster Erland bustling about, but not a trace of you—the youngest witcher master in history?"
A young and gloomy voice came from Allen's right, sounding like the lowest-tier villain from a novel.
Allen frowned slightly and turned his head.
Belendil Rogrides of the Rogrides family and Agostino Austin of the Crowned Silver Eagle had just stepped out of a portal.
Belendil Rogrides was looking at him with a grin, while Agostino Austin stood with arms crossed, expressionless.
The commander of Redania's Kingdom's Sword Knight Order, Magnus, was nowhere to be seen—likely restricted by the rule limiting each faction to two representatives at the conference.
The Rogrides family, the Crowned Silver Eagle, and the Kingdom's Sword were clearly three separate factions, yet they were recognized as one. Tissaia de Vries's inclination and aversion were displayed vividly.
"Allen, ignore him. Let's go," Erland tugged lightly at Allen's forearm and said in a low voice.
Allen merely raised an eyebrow and did not move.
If the one before him were a legendary archmage like Hen Gedymdeith or Ortolan, that would be another matter. He had not yet broken through "Limit · Initial," so temporarily avoiding them and developing further would be acceptable.
But a mere mid-level male sorcerer provoking him time and again—and he was supposed to avoid his edge?!!
Allen glanced first at Sol. Sol simply closed his eyes, as if resting.
Thus Allen gently patted Erland's hand where it held his forearm, signaling him to let go.
Erland looked at Sol, who remained with eyes closed, then shook his head helplessly and released him.
Tap, tap, tap
Amid the noisy march of the Eye of Judgment, Allen walked expressionlessly to stand before Belendil Rogrides. He cast a glance at Agostino Austin. "I always thought clowns only kept company with other clowns."
Agostino Austin froze for a moment, not yet reacting.
"You—!!!" After fully grasping what Allen had said, Belendil Rogrides flew into a rage. He raised his hand, about to point at Allen and curse him, when suddenly he felt a cold gaze fall upon him. He recalled the icy blade that had pressed against his finger days ago, and the evaluation afterward from Agostino Austin and Magnus.
His arm stiffened. He did not dare raise it.
Only then did Allen's gaze slowly shift from Agostino Austin to Belendil Rogrides's face. "I thought that someone who understood me well enough would not dare provoke me to my face. It seems I am still too young—I underestimated a human's courage."
"But don't worry. The expedition to Dol Dhu Lokke will be long. We have plenty of time."
After speaking, Allen extended two fingers, tapped his own eyes, then pointed at Belendil Rogrides, making a gesture of "I've got my eye on you," before saying, "Let's go," and heading into the tower with the witcher masters of the Wolf School and the Griffin School.
Along the way, sorcerers of other factions snapped out of their daze and quickly averted their gazes. Some even stepped aside to clear a path.
Belendil Rogrides stared at the scene in a daze. Just as he was about to retort, Allen's words echoed in his mind.
[I thought that someone who understood me well enough would not dare provoke me to my face—]
Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the silent Agostino Austin and suddenly recalled the root of why Redania now stood on the same front as the Rogrides family.
In the trial that had enraged "the Bald One," King Radovid IV, it was not only Evans—a mere court baron—who had died.
That boy—who could still be called immature—now stepping into the dark shadow of the tower, had in heavily guarded Drakenborg single-handedly killed not only Patrick Vasquez, but also the high-ranking sorcerer Ronnie Dickinson and an entire research group of mid-level male sorcerers.
Those people had been the backbone of the Rissberg Civil Cooperative Organization.
If Belendil Rogrides placed himself among the dead in Drakenborg, whether in strength or status, he would rank at the very bottom.
It was only because Ortolan, the leader of the Rissberg Civil Cooperative Organization, and its upper echelon had been in Ban Ard at the time, busy with the establishment of the Sorcerer Kingdom, that they had not reacted as violently as Redania.
As a result, he had kept his focus fixed on Sol and Erland, the two grandmasters, while overlooking Allen—the witcher who could well be called a killer of high-ranking sorcerers.
No.
"Did I truly overlook him—or was I simply unwilling to believe?"
Under countless strange gazes outside the city, Belendil Rogrides fell silent and questioned himself inwardly.
"I thought you were going to kill him—at least cut off one of his arms."
After entering the castle, Master Lucien of the Griffin School draped an arm around Allen's shoulders affectionately and appreciatively, joking.
"How could that be?" Allen shook his head. "If I ruined the Dol Dhu Lokke expedition, Lady Tissaia would kill me."
No matter what, he still had to give the host some face.
Besides, in his heart, Belendil Rogrides—and indeed everyone in the Rogrides family—were already dead.
One way or another, during the expedition he would find a way to eliminate Belendil Rogrides and the other hostile witchers.
He was not doing this merely because he had been repeatedly provoked and wanted to vent his anger—well, at least not entirely for that reason. More importantly, it was to lay the groundwork for demonstrating the strength of witchers.
To prevent the neutral and fence-sitting factions from being drawn over by the powerful Rogrides family and the Redanian royal house.
He had no bad habit of playing the pig to eat the tiger. Continually showing weakness would cause factions that could have remained neutral to become hostile simply because they did not favor the Wolf School.
If they would not side with the witchers, at the very least they must remain neutral.
"You handled that well—" Sol lightly patted Allen's shoulder.
Erland of Larvik also cast him an approving look. "Indeed, not bad."
Allen shook his head slightly and said nothing more. Following Maeve along the spiraling corridor within the castle, he continued upward, his thoughts already drifting to the upcoming assembly.
When the Griffin School had just arrived, they had all speculated how many meetings would be held before the expedition and had even spent time together devising responses to potential difficulties.
Yet in the past few days, not a single general assembly had been convened.
Only personnel from the Sorcerers' Brotherhood had delivered some topographical maps of Dol Dhu Lokke and information regarding monster distribution.
At first, the Wolf School and the Griffin School thought the Sorcerers' Brotherhood was targeting the witchers. Later, after inquiring, they discovered it was not just them.
Ever since the morning the Wolf School arrived—more precisely, since the scouts sent to survey Dol Dhu Lokke had returned severely wounded—the outpost had not held a single assembly.
"Arch-mistress and the other participants are waiting inside—" Maeve's voice interrupted his thoughts.
Creak
The heavy wooden door was pushed open.
The dim and gloomy corridor was instantly illuminated by bright candlelight.
Countless gazes—some malicious, some benevolent, some indifferent—were stirred by the sound of the door opening and shot toward them.
The trial had only just begun.
.......