Creak~
The wooden door was pushed open.
"Archpriestess…"
"Archpriestess…"
"Archpriestess Ianna…"
The priestesses and physicians standing by in the operating room placed their hands over their chests and greeted her in hushed tones.
However, the doctors responsible for the surgery merely lifted their heads briefly before continuing to wield their scissors, scalpels, and sutures—mending Hughes' broken body stitch by stitch.
Allen and Vesemir were about to greet her as well, but when they saw Ianna's appearance, their movements froze, and they frowned.
It had only been a few days, but the Archpriestess of the Melitele Temple looked as if she had aged several years overnight.
Not only was her back slightly hunched, but the lines and grooves carved into her face by time had deepened significantly.
The only thing that hadn't changed was the warm and kind smile she gave Allen—the kind of smile that seemed to seep into every wrinkle on her face.
No…
That smile was even more gentle than before, stripped entirely of the mischievous glint that once flickered behind the dignified façade—a glint belonging to a girl brimming with life.
"Mother Ianna, you…"
Allen quickly stepped forward to support her arm, cupping it in both his hands—and then paused, his hands stilled mid-motion.
What he felt was thin, fragile—like the brittle branch of a maple in late autumn, ready to fall naturally from the tree, crushed by its own weight upon landing on the carpet of dry leaves.
Had Mother Ianna's arms always felt like this?
"I'm old," Ianna raised her other bony hand and gently patted Allen's arm. "Climbing mountains is torment for an old woman. Every time, I need ten days to half a month just to recover."
"Alright, enough about that. Let's take a look at your poor child from the School of the Wolf… his name is Hughes, right? What's his condition now?"
Though she looked older, her voice still carried the fiery vigor from the past.
Before Allen could even ask whether she had a way to wake Hughes temporarily—so they could learn the whereabouts of the other Witchers from the School of the Wolf—Ianna had already calmly slipped out of his support.
She walked through the path cleared by priests and physicians and approached the operating table.
That frail, decaying image from just a moment ago almost felt like Allen's own illusion.
"What happened to him?" Ianna furrowed her brow at the sight of Hughes' body, riddled with countless wounds.
"…The most critical internal bleeding has been dealt with by Cirilla…"
"…We're now removing necrotic tissue… and stitching the wounds…"
"…But due to prolonged blood loss… hypothermia… even though Witchers have extraordinary endurance… the boy's still in grave danger…"
----------------------
Nenneke stepped closer, pointing at various parts of Hughes' body while giving Ianna a brief summary in her ear.
Ianna narrowed her eyes and slowly scanned the wounds on Hughes' body, nodding from time to time.
The physician named Cirilla continued working against the clock—cutting, suturing.
The subtle, rapid noises of surgical tools only made the entire operating room feel even more silent.
After Nenneke's report—which lasted less than a minute—Ianna rolled up her sleeves and accepted the sharp bone-handled scalpel, swiftly taking over the task of removing the necrotic flesh.
Her aged, withered arms moved with greater steadiness than Cirilla's, astonishing both Allen and Vesemir.
They exchanged glances but dared not disturb the solemn atmosphere of the room.
Especially when…
They looked at Hughes lying on the operating table—his lips, which had been twitching just moments ago during stitching, now completely still, his entire body pale like a corpse…
Their ears, sharply tuned, picked up words like blood loss, hypothermia, internal bleeding—terms that clearly meant serious danger.
If Witchers didn't need to breathe, the two Witcher masters from the School of the Wolf might have stopped breathing altogether.
Vesemir shot Allen a look, hinting, "Should we consider flying to La Valette to investigate first?"
Allen lowered his gaze in thought for a moment… then still shook his head.
It wasn't that he didn't care about the safety of Bond, Fred, or Danthe.
On the contrary—
Even putting personal feelings aside, Bond and Fred, like Hughes, were the only three Witchers in the Witcher Corps whose loyalty had reached one hundred.
Others like Erni and Klar, even after nearly a month of working together, had only raised their average loyalty slightly. The highest—Erni—was still stuck at 96.
Loyalty, at least for now, is closely tied to improving the Witcher Corps' core skill, Resonance.
Allen didn't believe that the loyalty stat shown in the Corps interface related only to Resonance as a skill.
Even if it did, the Witchers with maxed loyalty—Hughes, Bond, and Fred—were absolutely the future core of Allen's plans for the Witcher Corps.
Who didn't know how crucial a completely trustworthy confidant was to a leader? Especially in a heavily armed organization where lives were constantly at stake.
Moreover—
Having shared hardships and endured the mountain trials together, Allen naturally had personal feelings for them.
And Danthe, as one of the School of the Wolf's mere eight Witcher Masters, was equally important to the school.
However…
Hughes had been pulled from the Pontar River, the main river running east to west across the Northern Continent, spanning four major nations with countless tributaries.
The rushing waters erased all traces, so no one could track the others by following Hughes' wounds along the river's path. Of course, Allen couldn't do it.
Vesemir probably understood this.
Maybe because of the magical effects of Tracking and the Whisper of Life, he thought Allen was all-powerful in finding people or monsters?
"Don't worry, this boy will be fine," Ianna suddenly said to comfort Allen and Vesemir, who both looked heavily burdened with worry. "Lysa's intervention was timely. The Cirilla sisters are the temple's best doctors. The King of Redania once paid handsomely to have her teach at Oxenfurt…"
"Archpriestess Ianna, you flatter me," the doctor named Cirilla said humbly, raising her head briefly. Wearing a gauze mask and a coarse linen cap, she then lowered her head and deftly wielded her bone scalpel, cutting away a swollen, yellow pus-filled necrotic patch on Hughes' side.
"The Archpriestess is the best healer in the whole temple…"
Ianna smiled kindly without responding, then glanced at Allen and added, "The Witcher's extraordinary physiology saved him, but after surgery, he'll still need to rest at the temple for a month."
"That's to be expected," Allen nodded, then quickly asked, "Mother Ianna, when will Hughes wake up?"
Ianna thought for a few seconds and estimated, "At least not until tomorrow…"
She noticed something strange in Allen's expression.
"You have something to ask him."
It wasn't a question but a statement.
"Yes, Mother Ianna," Allen took a deep breath, his voice hoarse. "Hughes wasn't alone. Bond, Fred, and their traveling mentor, the Witcher Master Danthe from the School of the Wolf, should all have been with him…"
After Allen finished speaking, the entire operating room fell silent for a moment. Everyone was thinking the same question…
Hughes was already lying on the operating table, but what about the others?
Had they… perhaps…
"Bond, Fred," Ianna paused, looking at Hughes on the table, "and Hughes—those are the Witchers who passed the mountain trials together with you, right?"
"How does Mother Ianna know that?" Allen asked in surprise.
Hughes, Bond, and Fred had never been to the Melitele Temple.
"I was told by Vera."
Ianna pursed her lips and continued her work, stitching up a torn wound on Hughes' arm.
No wonder… Allen thought, nodding. "Hughes, Bond, and Fred passed the mountain trials with me. Among our batch of Witcher apprentices from the School of the Wolf, only the four of us survived…"
"Ah…" a young priest suddenly exclaimed.
The pitying and sorrowful gazes cast around made Allen frown uncomfortably, but then warmth spread through his right hand.
Lysa, hiding behind Vesemir, held his hand.
Before Allen could turn to look, he noticed Ianna suddenly stopped her movements.
"Archpriestess, you…" Nenneke seemed to suspect something and tried to stop her.
"It's just a matter of resting a few more days," Ianna waved him off, cutting him short, then looked back at Allen, "I have a way to wake him briefly, but given Hughes' injuries, it'll only be for a moment—just enough time for one sentence. You'd better decide what you want to ask now…"
Without waiting for Allen's reply, she turned her head and ordered:"Lysa, go to the front hall and get a bowl of water placed before the Melitele statue…"
"Siloa, pick three Snake Scale Flowers and one Heart-Holder Herb from the herb garden…"
"First, treat the deeper wounds that might press on blood vessels and cause bleeding, Cirilla…"
"Bree…"
Soon, most of the priests left the operating room.
Mother Ianna really had a method… Allen glanced at Vesemir.
The joy in the two Witchers' eyes flashed briefly.
About twenty minutes later.
After all the priests fetched the items arranged by Ianna, they stood close to the corners of the room.
Allen and Vesemir stood opposite Ianna.
Then, Ianna placed a clay cup filled with clean water above Hughes' head on the operating table.
Two Snake Scale Flowers, with their dried yellow petals densely arranged like snake scales, were placed by Hughes' ears, and one flower bud was laid flat on his chest…
The Heart-Holder Herb was placed by his lips…
This was… a ritual?
Allen watched Ianna arrange everything, feeling somewhat surprised.
He had thought this would be some divine magic or a concoction made from the Snake Scale Flowers and Heart-Holder Herb.
Because the Snake Scale Flower has a strong fishy smell and is commonly used in emetic formulas.
The Heart-Holder Herb neutralizes toxins and clears gangrene and infection from the blood. But unexpectedly, it was a ritual, one that Ianna had never taught him or even mentioned.
Remembering how Nenneke was interrupted by Ianna earlier, Allen suddenly felt uneasy.
He glanced at Nenneke.
Nenneke, expressionless, watched Ianna's preparations. Noticing Allen's gaze, he gently nodded at him.
This reassured Allen a little.
"Maybe I'm just worrying for nothing…" he thought, "Such a high cost—wouldn't Nenneke and the others try to stop this?"
Of course, there was nothing he could do now, and no way to stop Ianna at this moment.
In full view of everyone,
After placing everything, Ianna double-checked the few ritual items, sighed deeply, and with Nenneke's help, removed the Melitele amulet she wore over her chest.
"Ready?" Ianna looked at Allen.
Allen nodded firmly.
The sun had slipped below the horizon, but a faint afterglow lingered briefly before fading.
Night fell.
A cool evening breeze slipped through the cracks in the window, as if erasing the heat of the day.
But inside the operating room, the air filled with the stench of rotten flesh, rust, formalin, ether, and alcohol suddenly seemed to freeze the moment Allen nodded.
He could hear his own heavy breathing and quickening heartbeat.
Ianna tied the removed Melitele amulet around Hughes' pale body, then dipped her index finger in the clear water and traced three circles on Hughes' forehead. Then, crossing her hands into a fist, she closed her eyes.
The candles on the wall dripped wax.
The flickering candlelight cast everyone's shadows, quietly dancing on the dim yellow walls.
In the solemn silence, Allen couldn't help but stare at Hughes' corpse-like body and drift into thoughts.
The day was almost over.
Bond, Fred, and Master Danth… were they really still alive?
Buzz~
Suddenly, the Witcher emblems on the chests of the two Witchers vibrated with a humming sound.
Allen and Vesemir instinctively leaned forward, exchanged a glance, their expressions turning serious as they stared wide-eyed at Hughes.
In the clay basin, the clear water steamed with a hazy mist.
The Snake Scale Flowers burned without fire, eerie green flames scorching Hughes' ears and chest, yet the flesh beneath remained unchanged, as if the green flames were just an illusion.
"…"
After reciting a vague but loud chant, Ianna suddenly opened her eyes and loudly praised: "Praise to the Mother of all things, goddess of fertility, harvest, and childbirth, eternal maiden, mother, and crone guardian…"
The priests and healers standing by the wall echoed the praise in unison.
Almost at the moment the praise ended,
The Snake Scale Flowers on Hughes' ears and chest suddenly withered in the eerie green flames, each burning a wisp of brownish smoke.
The smoke drifted without wind, faintly gathering by Hughes' lips.
The bright red Heart-Holder Herb melted into a smear of blood, seeping into the corners of his lips, flowing into Hughes' mouth.
At that moment, Ianna shouted:"Allen!"
Immediately,
Hughes' lifeless face suddenly flushed with color.
"Ah—"
A piercing, tragic scream.
Hughes abruptly opened his eyes wide; his emerald cat-like pupils contracted and dilated painfully…
"Bond! No! No!"
He shouted uncontrollably, swinging his arms as if trying to strike some imagined monster, but the prepared priests forced him down together.
Blood seeped from the bandaged wounds.
"Hughes, where are they?" Allen shouted, pressing his hands against the operating table to suppress Hughes' scream.
"Al… Allen? Master Vesemir?" Hughes suddenly stopped screaming, his gaze dazed.
"It's us, Hughes!" Seeing Hughes' panic, Allen clenched his teeth and almost growled the question through clenched jaws, "Where are Bond, Fred, and Master Danthe?"
"At… at the source of the Duppa River in Drakenborg, Drakenborg of Redania…" Hughes hesitated but instinctively answered, as if still back in the ancient sea fortress, the orchard, and Ban Ade, always accompanying Allen in trials and adventures.
Hughes never hid anything from Allen.
They were brothers who could entrust their lives to each other.
"Dragon City?" Vesemir exclaimed, "Why would Danthe take you to Dragon City?"
But Hughes didn't answer Vesemir's question. His pupils suddenly contracted as if remembering something and struggled to shout: "Don't go! Allen! Don't go!"
"There… there…"
"There are gods!"
.....
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