"There's a god there!!!"
Hughes screamed with a voice torn from his soul, snapping the priests out of their stupor, frightened by the horrifying news.
Lying on the operating table, the witcher—who should've been weak from massive blood loss—suddenly burst forth with shocking strength.
He struggled with everything he had, breaking free from the priests in an instant. His ruined hand reached out, trying to grab Allen, trying to stop him—
"...Quick, quick, quick—hold him down—his wounds are going to reopen..."
"...We can't hold him—this kid's strength is too much..."
"...Careful, he's bleeding again..."
-----------------------
Chaos erupted in the operating room.
"Allen!"
Nenneke held down Hughes' arm and shouted to Allen.
Allen snapped out of it, his body flashing forward like a gust of wind. In the blink of an eye, he stood beside Hughes, supporting him.
Hughes' emerald cat-like pupils were bloodshot, veins bulging across his forehead. The bandaged wound at his temple soaked through with crimson in just moments.
"I'm not going, Hughes! None of us are going! Just lie down first!" Allen shouted to calm him.
The moment their eyes met, Hughes suddenly stopped struggling.
"...Silaya! Hemostats! Bandages! Cotton swabs! By Melitele… all that work just now was wasted..."
Physician Cirilla's forehead glistened with sweat as she shouted.
At that moment—
The now-still Hughes' eyes wandered, pupils dilated to circles, then abruptly focused.
For a second or two,
Allen noticed Hughes was watching him carefully—as if lucid again.
"No, Allen, you're lying to me. You'll definitely go…" Tears slid from the corners of Hughes' eyes, mourning something unknown. "You'll go for sure…"
Seeing this, Allen gripped Hughes' only uninjured left hand tightly, his eyes filled with pain. "Then tell me, Hughes! What hurt you like this—was that god a Leshen?"
"And what about Bond, Fred… and D—"
His throat suddenly caught.
Hughes' emerald eyes—at some point—had already lost focus.
Hughes… Hughes…
In that instant, Allen's heart froze in terror. His chest seemed flooded with scalding, viscous magma, burning and choking his breath.
"Ianna! Priest Nenneke! Hughes… Hughes…" he shouted in panic, incoherent.
"Move!" Ianna's powerful voice rang out from behind.
Allen immediately stepped aside, eyes fixed on Ianna's face, which looked a few years older now.
"Listen closely—he's still breathing…"
Vesemir had quietly approached at some point. He supported Allen and spoke softly.
"Hssss—haaah—"
Reminded, Allen noticed the faint sound of breathing amid the heavy metallic scent of blood in the air.
A moment later—
Ianna straightened her hunched back and gave Allen a nod. "He's fine. Just passed out."
'Just passed out?!' Allen exhaled in relief, but thought grimly: 'His pupils were blown—that's a sign of death, not fainting.'
"Witchers are like that," Ianna guessed what Allen was thinking and explained. "If you're curious, watch Vesemir's pupils next time he falls asleep—they dilate too…"
'Vesemir… my pupils while sleeping?'
Allen and Vesemir exchanged a glance. Vesemir coughed awkwardly, about to say something—
"You're going to look for those three witchers next?" Ianna patted Nenneke's hand to signal her to let go.
Nenneke nodded and stepped away from the operating table.
She knew some medicine, but surgery was still too advanced for her.
Allen and Vesemir exchanged glances, nodding. "We're leaving now. The sooner we go, the better the chances Bond, Fred, and Master Danthe are still alive."
Ianna looked at Allen, silent for a few seconds.
"Don't try to stop me, Mother Ianna," Allen forced a smile. "Even Hughes knew the moment he woke up—I'd go."
Ianna turned to Vesemir.
"Don't look at me, Archpriestess Ianna," Vesemir joked, mimicking Allen's tone. "Even Hughes knew—I'm not the one who gives orders. The royal griffin is Allen's. I just follow along…"
Ianna rolled her eyes in exasperation and glanced toward Lysa, who looked on anxiously.
Caught in her gaze, Lysa froze, blushing, and uncertainly pointed at herself.
"Don't do that, Mother Ianna," Allen shifted slightly to block her view. "Even if Hughes said it's a god, it's most likely just a Leshen."
"With his strength, a Leshen could very well seem godlike."
"But we all know—if they really encountered a god, Hughes wouldn't have escaped."
Three newly initiated witchers, plus a master of the Wolf School, facing the horde of corpse-eaters in the Mahakam Valley—they wouldn't have even made a ripple.
Let alone when the eyeball god descended—without a Melitele amulet, a single glance would've frozen them in place.
Escape?
How?
"I know that. Otherwise, I'd have you both meet the wrath of the Temple of Melitele."
Ianna shook her fist at Allen, then sighed in resignation and waved her hand.
The priests subtly blocking the doors and windows exchanged glances—and silently stepped aside.
The priestesses at the exits could never best a witcher, but Allen and Vesemir would never attack those with good intentions.
"Wait—take this with you!"
As Allen and Vesemir opened the door, something flew from behind. Allen caught it with a wave of his hand.
He opened his palm to reveal a wooden amulet carved with the three holy icons of Melitele.
A warmth radiated from it, and a golden divine glow flickered briefly.
It was the amulet Ianna had tied around Hughes' neck before the ritual—her own.
"You're such a troublesome child," Ianna sighed in frustration. "Be careful. Don't make me die of old age with guilt to Vera…"
"You'll live a long and healthy life." Allen replied sincerely, waved the amulet, and stepped out the door.
Bang~
The wooden door closed behind them.
Moments later—
"Stop staring—they've left already." Ianna said, startling a girl who was still gazing blankly at the door, prompting a round of soft laughter.
"Mother Ianna…" the girl murmured with a flushed face.
"Now you call me 'Mother Ianna'," Ianna frowned as she replaced the blood-soaked bandage on Hughes' temple. "Why didn't you help me hold him back earlier?"
"I… I couldn't…" the girl brushed her bangs aside, her expression wistful. "And I didn't want to…"
"Oh? Why not?" Ianna looked up in surprise.
The girl was silent for a long time. When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft it barely had weight.
"Mother Ianna… no wound hurts more than the regret of doing nothing…"
The quiet operating room grew even quieter.
Under the flickering candlelight, even the bone scalpel in Cirilla's hand paused midair for a second.
"You're a poor child too."
Ianna sighed. As the other priests who didn't know the girl's background looked on in confusion, she changed the subject.
"Did Goidmar agree?"
The girl gently nodded. "The king agreed. He said…"
-----------------------
Tonight, the sky was overcast.
Both the heavens and the earth were shrouded in pitch-black darkness.
Without an extraordinary talent, flying in such weather could easily disorient a person—turning the world upside down.
Thankfully, the royal griffin belonged to that rare class of magical beasts gifted with innate ability.
Good Girl flew steadily.
However, she didn't recognize the scents of Bond, Fred, or Danthe, nor did she know the direction of Dragon City. So, the job of navigation still fell to Allen and Vesemir, riding on her back.
To be more precise:
Vesemir, who had roamed the world for centuries, was responsible for determining direction. Allen would then relay the corrected instructions to the griffin. Fortunately, the sun had only just set.
Across the Northern Continent, from cities to villages, households were settling down for dinner.
Here and there, lights twinkled on the ground below. To Allen and Vesemir, they were like constellations at sea—guiding travelers through darkness.
But soon enough, those busy with their livelihood would blow out their lights.
When that happened, Allen and Vesemir would truly be out of options.
Whoosh whoosh\~
Suddenly, the sound of rushing water filled the air.
"We've reached the Pontar River. Below us should be La Valette—the place where Alex was rescued," Vesemir said, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the wind and squinting downward.
Dense clouds obscured the stars and moon. It was hard to tell from the sky where land ended and the river began.
Allen followed Vesemir's gaze, but he found it hard to distinguish the land Vesemir described as "still and congealed" from the river he called "deep and smooth."
To him, darkness was simply darkness.
Of course—
If you looked carefully, there were differences.
For example—
The lights on land remained still. But over the Pontar River, affected by tides brought by the day's end, the lights flickered and bobbed.
Those were fishermen, still casting their nets after dusk.
"Do you think Erni and the others are ready to take part in a battle like this?" Vesemir asked suddenly, his eyes still scanning the ground as Allen adjusted their course.
Yes—
The seven-person squad from the Witcher Corps was following them.
They were currently hanging from the griffin's claws, occasionally shouting up to make their presence known.
"I think they're ready," Allen nodded. "The wounds on Hughes weren't just from corruption, there were also a lot of wolf bites. Erni and the others can help ease our burden. Besides…"
He gave a helpless smile.
"Just like you didn't stop me, I couldn't stop them from wanting to save their companions either."
In fact, Erni, Klar, and Clay were closer to Hughes, Bond, and Fred than Allen was.
After completing their mountain trials, Allen had been busy with alchemy, Ban Ard, ritual studies, and other matters.
Except for the occasional drowner hunt, it had mostly been Hughes, Bond, and Fred helping Vesemir and Aristos train them in swordplay and signs.
Just after Allen and Vesemir left the operating room, they were immediately cornered by the seven young witchers who had been eavesdropping and were now indignant.
They looked ready to "run away from home" to join the rescue mission if not allowed to go.
"Well, that's true too…"
Vesemir chuckled at the memory of being surrounded by a bunch of kids. It was a little funny—and a little heartwarming.
The two of them fell silent for a moment.
Allen suddenly recalled what Hughes had said and asked, "Vesemir, when Hughes mentioned Drakenborg, why did you refer to it as Dragon City?"
"What is Dragon City?"
"Dragon City is Drakenborg," Vesemir replied. "Just like the Ancient Sea Fortress is actually Kaer Morhen, Drakenborg is the transliteration of 'Dragon City' in Elder Speech."
"Then why were you surprised that Master Danthe would take Hughes, Bond, and Fred to Drakenborg?" Allen pressed further. "Is there something special about that place? Dangerous monsters? Or… does it live up to its name…"
"Are there dragons there?"
Vesemir was silent for a few seconds, seemingly searching for the right words.
"Drakenborg is near the Kaestrel Mountains. Maybe during the days of the Elven Court, it was once home to dragons—but dragons have long since disappeared from the Northern Continent."
He continued: "And a few years ago, because of the whims of several kings, the Northern Continent saw a wave of dragon hunts. Dragon City, due to its name and some vague rumors, was thoroughly searched for a long time. There are definitely no dragons…"
"Then why?"
"Because Drakenborg isn't just any fortress," Vesemir sighed. "It was once Redania's largest fortress-prison, notorious for detaining non-humans and for its cruel punishments."
"I don't know why Danthe would bring freshly graduated apprentices to a place like that…"
"Drakenborg isn't even on the unofficial routes. In fact, it was removed from them years ago due to several… incidents. It should be avoided."
"What kind of incidents?" Allen asked, curious.
"Classic tales of heroes rescuing beauties and offending the local nobles," Vesemir said offhandedly. "Drakenborg is a prison for non-humans—especially elves. A few elves who either escaped or were rescued by their kin ran into Witchers from the School of the Wolf…"
Allen understood.
Lust was practically a signature trait of Wolf School Witchers.
Newly graduated Witchers, still untouched by the harshness of reality, coming down from the mountain and encountering a beautiful elven girl being chased by brutal human guards…
Yeah…
The pursuit of glory and beauty was a potent mix, easy to get carried away.
Drakenborg should not be on a Witcher's route of travel.
Vesemir went on, "And besides, Drakenborg is a prison. There are either no contracts suitable for Witchers there, or the contracts are so difficult that ordinary Witchers couldn't possibly complete them."
"Danthe would almost never choose that route…"
But he did.
Allen ran his hand through the coarse mane of the royal griffin.
Why?
Skree~
The griffin let out a clear cry, interrupting the Witchers' discussion.
They had already crossed the wide Pontar River.
Vesemir refocused his attention on identifying landmarks.
For a while, silence returned to the griffin's back.
Only the night wind roared from all directions of the sky—bone-chilling and sharp, devoid of any of summer night's heat or radiance.
The cold reminded Allen of Hughes, lying still on the operating table.
Hughes's skin had felt just as cold.
And that connection… made the wind feel even colder—so much so that the flame in Allen's heart burned even hotter and fiercer, ready to consume the enemy… or himself.
Then—
"Drakenborg," Vesemir said softly, "we're here."
...........
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