The earnings of a witcher's monster hunts were not subject to taxation by any kingdom.
This clause had been explicitly stated in the treaty signed between the Witcher Order and the Northern Kingdoms when witchers were first created.
Whether it was a privilege granted to heroes, an act of compassion toward orphans, or simply an expression of guilt and remorse…
No one knew what was in the minds of those in power when they signed their long, noble names on that parchment. But since witchers paid no taxes to any nation, this also created a practical understanding—witchers had no nationality.
This was the foundation of the Wolf School's neutrality doctrine.
After all, an organization that still paid taxes to a nation would inevitably be bound by its government. How could it claim neutrality?
But in reality…
How could a person truly have no sense of belonging?
If you had fought for a kingdom for decades, even centuries, shedding your blood and bearing your scars to carve out a safe world for its people—listening to their admiration, their praise, their worship…
And then their children, and their children's children, continued that reverence for generations.
For decades or even centuries, just by walking through any village or street in that kingdom, seeing the ordinary yet peaceful lives of the people, there would always be a sense of familiarity in their faces. And perhaps, deep inside, a voice would echo:
"I saved your grandfather!"
"I saved your mother!"
"I even held you when you were a baby!"
"Damn it! You were the little brat who pissed on my sword back then!"
-------------------------
Wouldn't these countless tiny threads of memory, woven together, form a river of belonging?
Take Coën of the Griffin School, for example.
The Griffin School, unlike the Wolf School, did not explicitly adhere to neutrality, but they also avoided getting involved in human conflicts whenever possible. Yet, during the Second Northern War, Coën still volunteered to fight at the Battle of Brenna, siding with the Northern Kingdoms.
Just as Ciri foresaw, he was pierced through by a pitchfork or two-pronged guisarme in battle.
He was buried by Shani, who wept as she laid him to rest.
Even a hundred years later, when witchers were more ostracized than ever, there were still witchers willing to die for the Northern Kingdoms.
How much more so for the Wolf School in the present day?
Or perhaps…
When a nation becomes so safe because of you that your existence is no longer necessary…
Would there not be a mix of helplessness, sorrow… and a hint of pride?
The shift in Kaedwen's common folk, from being grateful to treating witchers with the same disdain as traditional troublemakers, had only begun in the last decade or so.
But Vesemir had lived and fought in Kaedwen for centuries. He had earned its people's respect and admiration for just as long.
That was why Allen could understand the complexity of Vesemir's emotions—
The sorrow of seeing something he once loved, now rebellious, destroyed by his own hand.
The satisfaction of an old grudge finally settled.
The uncertainty of how to explain it to the Wolf School.
Of course, Allen couldn't completely empathize with Vesemir.
Hearing that Kaedwen had seemingly fallen, aside from concerns about the aftermath, he felt only the satisfaction of revenge.
After all, the grotesque face of "Glutton" Henselt was truly revolting. Anyone who had heard the story of his treachery against Sol would find it difficult to have any sympathy for Kaedwen.
Not to mention, in the history Allen knew from his past life, Kaedwen's future king, Henselt II, would turn out to be an equally despicable figure.
His extreme policies against non-humans were one thing.
During the Second Northern War, while his ally Aedirn was fighting Nilfgaard in the south, he seized Upper Aedirn in an act that was nothing short of theft.
Margrave Mansfeld of Ard Carraigh and Field marshal Menno Coehoorn of Nilfgaard even shook hands over the partition of Aedirn at the Dyfne River—a handshake so infamous that it became a historical disgrace.
Treacherous, greedy, shortsighted—none of these words were enough to describe such a despicable figure.
A true son of "Glutton" Henselt, through and through.
Considering all this, along with his own experiences at the Ban Ard tournament, Allen had no fondness for Kaedwen as a nation.
Even so…
Allen glanced at Vesemir, who was frowning as the sun dipped below the horizon, still lost in the turmoil of Kaedwen's downfall.
Some words of comfort were necessary.
After a moment's thought, Allen spoke.
"Vesemir, nothing is settled yet. Even if Ard Carraigh has fallen, that doesn't mean Kaedwen is truly finished…"
"No," Vesemir shook his head. "If Aedirn has truly taken Ard Carraigh, then everything is already settled."
"You've been away from the mountains for too long, Allen. The entirety of Kaedwen is just one massive valley, surrounded by the Kestrel, Wyvern, and Blue Mountains…"
"The only natural barrier between Kaedwen and Aedirn is the Pontar River."
"If Aedirn's army has crossed the river, Kaedwen is in serious danger—but it could still resist. But if they've reached Ard Carraigh…"
Seeing Allen's confused expression, Vesemir stepped outside, leaped into the cabin, and retrieved a map book.
Rustle—rustle—
The yellowed parchment rustled as he flipped through the pages.
A moment later, he spread a massive map across the table.
At its center, in neat script, were the words "Kaedwen."
In fact, it wasn't just Kaedwen—Temeria, Aedirn, Redania, Lyria, and Cidaris…
Each kingdom had a similarly detailed map.
But Kaedwen's was the most annotated.
Once opened, it was densely marked with topographical details—mountains, rivers, cities, and villages. Danger zones were indicated with skull symbols, while important locations, such as cities or monster-infested mountain ranges, were marked with inverted triangles.
These triangles meant there were additional maps detailing the area, tucked behind the kingdom's main map.
Kaedwen's maps alone took up nearly half of the entire atlas.
Every single mark on it had been made by witchers of the Wolf School—often at great personal risk, sometimes at the cost of their lives.
"Look here," Vesemir pointed at Ard Carraigh. "The area surrounding Ard Carraigh is an open plain, with no natural defenses to build a frontline. To the north is nothing but freezing, desolate terrain, with only a few small villages—vast stretches of land with no settlements at all…"
"That means the king and the nobles only have two options for retreat…"
"Ban Ard and Vergen?" Allen asked.
"Yes, Ban Ard and Vattweir," Vesemir nodded solemnly. "And given the relationship between the king and the sorcerers, as well as the state of Ban Ard, there's really only one direction left."
His index finger moved westward, crossing the Buina River, and firmly landed on Vattweir.
"This is the last remaining city and fortress in Kaedwen with a population in the tens of thousands."
Allen looked at Vattweir on the map without speaking.
Kaedwen's last two major cities, Vattweir and Ban Ard, were separated in the middle. While it was very likely that the new King Lado wouldn't seek help from the sorcerers, there was a difference between won't and can't.
Vesemir still had deep feelings for Kaedwen and hadn't suffered much under its rule. Could it really be that not a single archmage in Ban Ard, which had directly caused the previous king's death, had any sympathy for Kaedwen?
But now…
As long as Aedirn severed the connection between them and set up a ritual in Vattweir to block spatial teleportation—
Even if the archmages of Ban Ard loved Kaedwen more than the Witchers did and were willing to risk their lives to defy the Brotherhood's prohibitions, they would still be powerless.
And Vattweir…
Allen's gaze lingered on the rough sketch of the city walls on the map.
"Vattweir is backed by the Kestrel Mountains, making it easy to defend and difficult to attack," Vesemir shook his head. "But there isn't another nearby city to provide mutual support. Just defending it—how long can they really hold out?"
"Lado might be able to lead his remaining forces and hold out in that fortress for a while, but once Aedirn subjugates the rest of the territory…"
He let out a quiet sigh and said no more.
Allen carefully searched along the map Vesemir had drawn. The sky was nearly dark, yet he still couldn't find even a single viable escape route for Kaedwen's new king, Lado.
Damn it, the more he looked, the more Kaedwen seemed doomed to fall.
But it made sense. Compared to the country from his past life, Kaedwen was already small, with almost no strategic depth. Ard Carraigh was located at the very center of its vast lands.
Aedirn's army had already pushed into its heart—at this point, Kaedwen's fall was inevitable.
"But the Brotherhood of Sorcerers has already forbidden the use of master-level destructive spells in the Northern Wars. Even as the country that houses the School of Mages, Kaedwen shouldn't be relying solely on magic."
"Besides, with novice- and adept-level destructive spells—honestly, given the casting time and mana cost, a mid- to low-tier mage on the battlefield is less effective than an archer with poor aim."
"How could they have been utterly crushed like this, with their capital taken in a single, overwhelming strike?"
"And the most ridiculous part? Even Ban Ard's own people didn't receive the news in time before the royal capital was breached..."
Allen truly couldn't understand how Kaedwen's army could be so utterly incompetent, handing Aedirn such an unbelievable victory.
No wonder the Northern kings were too preoccupied to care about the civilian partnerships in Sunny, Rissberg, and Hen Gedymdeith.
Whether the Wild Hunt came or not, whether Ban Ard's mages survived or fled, was still up in the air—it might not even affect them directly. At the very least, it was a problem for the distant future.
But if Aedirn swallowed Kaedwen whole, it would become a dominant force in the east.
That would directly threaten the interests of the Northern Kingdoms' rulers.
Wait a minute—
The interests of the Northern kings...
Allen narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment before looking up at Vesemir. "Kaedwen won't fall, Vesemir!"
"Why?" Vesemir pressed his lips together. "Did you find a path for Kaedwen to survive on the map?"
"Kaedwen's survival isn't on the map," Allen shook his head.
"Hm?" Vesemir squinted at him in confusion.
"Swish~ Swish~"
Allen picked up the atlas resting on the windowsill and pointed directly at the map of the Northern Continent on its cover.
"If Aedirn conquers Kaedwen, it will control nearly half of the Northern Continent, yet it will only have two borders in contact with potential hostile forces..."
"The southern border is with Lyria, which is weak and conservative. There's no way it would provoke Aedirn. In fact, once Aedirn has fully digested Kaedwen, Lyria might be the first to be annexed under some fabricated excuse."
"As for the western border, there's Temeria and Redania, but their meeting point with Aedirn is in the Pontar Valley. That means once Aedirn annexes Kaedwen, it only needs to hold the Pontar Valley to secure its entire western front."
"Would Temeria, Redania, and the rest of the Northern Kingdoms allow such a nation to exist?"
As he thought about it, Allen himself was startled by his own words.
After swallowing Kaedwen, Aedirn would have almost no weaknesses in its defenses. It was already a major grain producer, and Demavend II was still young...
Putting it all together, Aedirn had the makings of an empire.
If it could solidify its rule, it might not even need to wait for Nilfgaard's expansion in a hundred years—Aedirn could sweep across the entire Northern Continent and then push directly south.
So...
Was the true successor to the Nilfgaardian Empire actually Aedirn?
Vesemir remained silent for a long moment after hearing Allen's words. He furrowed his brows, took the atlas, and studied it carefully before hesitating.
"But... but this is a war between Aedirn and Kaedwen. How could the Northern Kingdoms intervene?"
"I don't know," Allen sighed. "But do you think they'll just stand by and watch?"
Vesemir fell into silence.
After a long pause, he seemed to grasp the deeper meaning behind Allen's words. He knew Allen was trying to comfort him, seeing how troubled he was. With a sigh, he said, "Sorry. It's not that I like Kaedwen. In fact, I dislike it now. But still..."
"I understand." Allen smiled warmly.
It was like raising a dog for many years, only for it to suddenly turn on you and bite.
The first time it bit you, you'd forgive it, maybe even take it to a doctor, making excuses for it to reassure yourself. But if it bit you a second time, a third... until you realized it was beyond saving, only then would you feel true disappointment.
And even then, it would still be hard to put it down.
Right now, Vesemir was somewhere between the second and third bite—suddenly realizing that this once-loyal companion, who had stopped behaving, was now on the verge of dying because of him.
Of course, he would feel terrible.
"Look at it from another angle, Vesemir," Allen continued once he saw Vesemir had calmed down. "This situation may be related to us, but in truth, it has little to do with us directly."
"The root cause of all this was Henselt and the mages scheming against the School of the Wolf. We've been forced into this fight from the start..."
"Aedirn waged war because of its long-standing feud with Kaedwen..."
"We captured the Royal Griffin because Sunny sent Vilgefortz to turn Erni and Claral into jade statues with a transformation-sealing curse. We were just in a hurry to break the spell..."
"And as for the Wild Hunt—"
"I understand," Vesemir suddenly interrupted. He smiled kindly and said, "Don't worry. I was never that attached to Kaedwen... but the other witchers in our school might not feel the same way."
"Especially the Grandmaster, he..."
Vesemir hesitated, then shook his head. "Forget it, let's not talk about that. What do you think the kings will do?"
"I don't know."
Allen lowered his gaze to the easternmost part of the map, where a tall tower was drawn.
"But I suspect..."
"Whatever it is, it might not be good news for the School of the Wolf."
.....
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