The Witcher: Wolf School's Hunting Notes

"Squish... squish..."

A massive mound of flesh towering in the forest squirmed like a maggot, writhing in place. At the top, a giant mouth with circular, worm-like teeth split open.

"Plop!"

A glob of flesh, coated in murky slime, was spat out onto the sparse grass.

No sooner had the flesh ball hit the ground than a few ghouls dashed over, licking the slimy coating clean.

The massive mouth contracted and pulsed.

"Fizz..."

A spherical lump of mud, billowing black smoke, fell from the sky, landing directly in the mouth just before it could close.

The mound of flesh seemed oblivious. After closing its mouth, it squirmed for a few more moments like a maggot—then suddenly froze.

"Boom!"

It exploded like a water-filled tank bursting from within.

The powerful muscles at the base of the mound, rooted in the grass, ripped apart in an instant.

A torrent of blood and chunks of internal organs gushed out.

"Roar! Roar! Roar!"

The creatures lying on the ground nearby immediately sprang up, running wildly across the grass, seemingly searching for the culprit behind the flesh mound's destruction.

Of course, they couldn't find him.

The true perpetrator was high in the sky. After casting a cold glance at the ground, he flew toward the next target.

"How about I handle the next monster nest?" Vesemir said, gripping the mane of the royal griffin, his gaze filled with concern as he looked at Allen.

It was only a matter of tossing a grapeshot bomb no heavier than a longsword, yet the youngest Witcher master on the Continent—the newly crowned Godslayer—was already panting heavily.

"No need," Allen shook his head.

With Vesemir's abilities, throwing a grapeshot bomb into a "Viscount's" fleetingly open mouth was more than doable.

But monster nests weren't meant to be wasted like that.

Vesemir didn't insist after hearing this.

Having spent so much time with Allen, he'd come to grasp some of the young Witcher's peculiarities.

For example, his penchant for personally slaying monsters, his near-obsessive battle fervor, and the curious concoctions his clever mind always seemed to devise after large-scale battles...

When combined with the Witcher's ability to analyze a monster's magical patterns with his "Witcher's Gaze," Vesemir suspected that Allen learned by observing the flow of magic within monsters during combat—mimicking their functionality or crafting oils specifically to counter them.

Still...

This didn't fully explain certain unique aspects of Allen—such as the royal griffin.

The unusual harness used to tame the griffin resembled Allen's alchemical recipes for sword oils and potions. It seemed to manifest only after he killed a monster and some time had passed.

Yet upon closer reflection, there was a clear difference.

The more effective the alchemical tool, the more complex the process and the greater the required materials should be.

However, the harness that could subdue a large monster like a griffin seemed to appear out of thin air.

Vesemir had never seen Allen craft such a tool, buy materials, or go into seclusion to create it—no signs of related actions whatsoever.

The griffin's harness was just one of many inexplicable phenomena that couldn't be rationalized through the Witcher's Gaze.

Take the Conjunction of the Spheres, for example.

Vesemir had seen sorcerers wield lightning and fire, and druids summon storms and rain, but never had he witnessed a caster who could manipulate the Conjunction of the Spheres itself.

He recalled the three deafening booms earlier in the valley and the unknown creature smashed against the cliff by a tentacle from the summoning ritual. Vesemir was lost in thought.

How could a Witcher's eyes influence celestial phenomena like that?

Even if Vesemir didn't agree with the sorcerers' disdain for Witchers as mere creations of mages, he couldn't deny that their origin traced back to Alzur.

And yet, even sorcerers couldn't summon something as rare and monumental as the Conjunction of the Spheres.

Why could a Witcher—whose magic wasn't even their defining trait—do so?

"Boom!"

Another grapeshot bomb obliterated a monster nest, interrupting Vesemir's musings.

"Only one nest left!" Allen gasped, withdrawing his right hand.

Vesemir could see it in those vivid blue eyes—a joy that came from the depths of his heart.

Even though Allen was so exhausted that tossing a grapeshot bomb the size of a pebble was taxing,

Killing monsters that plagued humanity still brought him happiness and excitement.

"Perhaps..." Vesemir's mind lit up with a sudden realization.

Perhaps it wasn't the Witcher profession that was special, but Allen himself.

It wasn't that Allen the Witcher had the ability to manipulate the Conjunction of the Spheres—it was that Allen, who could manipulate the Conjunction, just happened to be a Witcher.

Just like heroes Zatret Voruta and Supreee, who were both human, yet chosen by fate to accomplish miracles beyond the reach of ordinary people.

Would Allen become a hero like Zatret and Supreee?

Vesemir gazed at Allen, who was exhausted yet enthusiastically communicating with the griffin about their next destination.

No!

Looking at Allen's face, no longer childlike but instead smeared with fierce, blood-stained grime...

Thinking back to the apprentice combat tournament, the slaying of the archgriffin, the Wild Hunt attack and monster siege during May Day, and the recent descent of an dark god...

Vesemir shook his head.

His apprentice was already a hero on par with Zatret Voruta and Supree.

"What's wrong, Vesemir?"

Allen, made uneasy by the witcher master's stare, cautiously asked.

"Nothing..."

Vesemir withdrew his gaze, then glanced at the flapping wings of the royal griffin beside them and changed the subject: "What's your plan for the royal griffin?"

"What plan?"

"Now that the royal griffin has been exposed to so many people, won't there be trouble with Kaedwen and the sorcerers?"

"There won't be..." Allen waved it off. "The sorcerers of Ban Ard are too preoccupied with their own troubles to spare any attention for us of the School of the Wolf..."

In a while, when he figured out the best combination and timing for unleashing interdimensional fusion and hunting missions, the sorcerers would likely have even less energy to deal with them.

"As for Kaedwen's nobles and royalty… Over there, good girl," Allen said while guiding the royal griffin in the right direction. He then turned to Vesemir and continued, "They're the same. Aedirn, free from the harassment of the royal griffin, is now their biggest headache..."

"Besides..."

Allen paused for two seconds before saying, "The monsters on the Northern Continent will only keep increasing, and Ban Ard won't be able to lend a hand..."

"The nobles and sorcerers of Kaedwen will be too busy trying to curry favor with the School of the Wolf to risk offending us over unsubstantiated rumors."

"Otherwise, who will deal with the drowners and ghouls wreaking havoc, or protect sorcerers targeted by the Wild Hunt?"

He took a deep breath.

His piercing blue cat-like eyes met Vesemir's with a bright intensity: "Things aren't the same as they were in the past, Vesemir..."

Things aren't the same as they were in the past?

Vesemir repeated this sentence in his mind, momentarily dazed.

He pondered Allen's words and couldn't find a flaw in the logic.

Indeed...

Why did Henselt dare to challenge the School of the Wolf? Wasn't it because the number of monsters on the Northern Continent had been decreasing, reducing the demand for witchers?

But now Ban Ard was crippled by the Wild Hunt, and Kaedwen's nobles were busy waging all-out war against Aedirn. Their resources stretched thin, the rampant monsters in the country could only be dealt with by witchers.

And because the School of the Wolf was based in Kaedwen, other witcher schools respected the unspoken rules and wouldn't intervene.

Kaedwen's king and nobles truly had no other option but to rely on the School of the Wolf.

Vesemir suddenly had a revelation. After a second, he frowned.

He was considering:"How did things change from the School of the Wolf being coveted and antagonized by Kaedwen's ruler Henselt and Ban Ard's sorcerers, teetering on the brink of ruin..."

"To the current situation, in less than a year, where we no longer need to fear our fortress at Kaer Morhen being destroyed by an army or spells..."

"The School of the Wolf might even become the only hope for the commoners and nobles of Kaedwen?"

The apprentice combat tournament where Henselt was killed, the Conjunction of the Spheres that framed Ban Ard, sowing discord among Kaedwen's nobles and royalty and destabilizing the political landscape, which also provoked Aedirn's retaliation...

Discovering the Wild Hunt's tracks near Port Flotsam, deducing their objective, and luring them to the sorcerers' academy...

And now...

Subduing the royal griffin terrorizing Vengerberg, unlocking the war beast of Aedirn, while Ban Ard's academy and Kaedwen's nobles were plunged into their own troubles, too distracted to act.

What was even more terrifying...

While all this happened, neither faction realized who was truly responsible. The School of the Wolf wasn't even remotely suspected.

Realizing this, Vesemir looked up sharply at Allen, gasping.

The apprentice, pale and weak, clutching the royal griffin's mane, suddenly appeared larger than life in Vesemir's eyes—an awe-inspiring presence even more intimidating than the pressure of that dark god.

Every step interconnected, truly interconnected!

"Was this all your plan?" Vesemir couldn't help but ask.

"Huh?"

Allen, struggling to match the pitch-black ground with the location of the monster nest in his mind, turned his gaze back.

Seeing Vesemir's expression of shock and disbelief, Allen was baffled: "What plan are you talking about?"

Vesemir swallowed hard. "All of this... I mean Ban Ard and Kaedwen's current situation—did you plan it all from the very start? Right after descending from the mountains... No... Was it all part of your plan since completing the Trial of the Grasses?"

"That's impossible!" Allen weakly waved his hand.

Vesemir tilted his head, his golden cat-like eyes glaring at Allen, his face screaming, "You even kept this from me, your witcher mentor!" Clearly, he didn't believe Allen's denial.

"It's true!" Allen reiterated, "I just played it by ear, and things gradually turned out this way."

Indeed, that was the case.

He was just an ordinary person, not the reincarnation of Light, capable of seeing three steps ahead.

To be fair, while much of it was his doing—like killing Henselt during the Conjunction of the Spheres at Ban Ard and luring the Wild Hunt there—the smooth progression of events wasn't something he had anticipated.

It felt like everything had fallen into place without him realizing it.

Now that he thought about it, while his efforts played a role, Henselt's despicable actions had also contributed significantly to the current situation.

After all, if Aedirn's king and nobles hadn't been so united in their hatred of Kaedwen, they wouldn't have launched a war so quickly, despite their lack of resources and obvious disadvantage in strength.

If their hatred for Kaedwen had been any less intense, they might have withdrawn their troops within the first week of the royal griffin's attacks on the city.

And if either Kaedwen or Ban Ard had been in a better position, and if Henselt still maintained close ties with both, given their shameless history, it wouldn't have been surprising if the School of the Wolf had been dragged into the mess.

For instance, they could have been coerced into participating in the war or morally blackmailed into having Grandmaster Sol lead the entire school to defend Ban Ard.

That being said…

If Henselt hadn't inexplicably targeted the School of the Wolf and had acted like a decent human being, he wouldn't have met his end during the apprentice combat tournament between the School of the Wolf and the School of the Cat.

"Really?"

Allen explained to Vesemir the possible outcomes if Henselt had acted like a decent person. However, Vesemir raised an eyebrow, still wearing a skeptical expression.

"Fine, believe what you want," Allen shook his head helplessly, thinking, 'At least I've done nothing to wrong the School of the Wolf.'

He then took a grapeshot bomb from his reagent pouch, squinted, and tossed it.

The bomb drew a smooth arc through the air before falling into the faintly wriggling ground hole.

"Boom!"

With an explosive sound, flesh and ash erupted from the cliffside.

"After today's events, the villages around Ellander are likely to be plagued by necrophage attacks for quite some time," Vesemir said from atop the royal griffin, watching the aftermath of the monster nest's destruction. Chaos ensued as the necrophages briefly scattered before regrouping in twos and threes, disappearing into the mountains.

"That's perfect for Erni, Claral, and the others to get some practice," Allen replied, shifting his gaze back to the ground. "We still haven't resolved the matter of Hen Gedymdeith being captured by Sunny..."

In truth, the seven members of the wolfpack had made significant progress in the past month since descending from the mountains.

Their improvements in swordsmanship, signs, monster lore, and vigilance rivaled the growth of an average apprentice's one, two, or even three years of wandering.

But even so, no freshly descended witcher had ever been able to take on a ghoul alone.

These quadrupedal creatures were far more agile and challenging than humanoid drowners.

It was only because the dark god's descent had been such a dangerous event, and Vesemir and Allen had been preoccupied with countering the summoning ritual, that they'd had no choice but to lock the others in the temple for their safety.

Then again…

By following him, these newly descended witchers had already experienced being ambushed by the mage Vilgefortz, turned into statues, and witnessing the descent of an dark god.

It was like leaving the beginner's village only to immediately face the final boss.

At least now, things should calm down for a while.

The abundance of necrophages in these mountains would be more than enough to push Erni and the others to new heights.

"True enough…"

Vesemir chuckled, the gloom of the school's destruction finally dispelled, leaving him in a lighter mood.

"At least it'll stop them from constantly whining about wanting to hunt monsters, without even considering their capabilities..."

Suddenly, Vesemir's expression shifted. In an instant, he reached out to catch Allen, who had momentarily lost focus and almost slipped off the royal griffin.

"What's wrong, Allen?"

"Nothing..."

Allen's mind was filled with the sound of a familiar dismissal bell.

Ding.

[Monster group "Alghouls," "Scurvers," "Summoning Ritual," "@#￥%&"… Defeated!]

[Reward calculation: …]

Huh? What's this "@#￥%&"?

.....

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