Chapter 137: 137. The Cat School's Caravan.
The long table went quiet for a moment after Vesemir's words. Before today, none of the newly minted witchers had taken this combat tournament seriously.
For Hughes, Bond, and Fred, their skills had advanced rapidly over the past two months. They couldn't imagine losing to the Cat School apprentices who had just become witchers like them. As for Allen... It seemed impossible that someone as skilled as Allen, who had already become a master witcher and was nearly invincible, could lose.
They believed the real dangers of this journey lay in the king and the sorcerers, as Allen had previously mentioned. However, Vesemir's words hinted at another possibility: even Allen could lose, or worse, die in this apprentice combat tournament. This idea was hard for them to accept.
"Master Vesemir, your dishes are ready," a plump waitress at the tavern interrupted the silence as she approached with a tray. Vesemir looked up to thank her, then noticed the solemn expressions on the apprentices' faces, and felt a slight sense of relief. He knew he had achieved his goal.
Of course, everything he had just said was true, but Vesemir had exaggerated the danger a bit. The scum of the Cat School might be ruthless and unpredictable, but they wouldn't dare break the king's rules. After all, most of their work came from kings and nobles, and their unstable members often caused trouble that only the king could resolve.
So, while the Cat School valued the king's favor and rewards, they also valued their standing in his eyes. Although ordinary witchers of the Cat School might be reckless due to their instability, their leaders certainly were not. They wouldn't risk defying or deceiving the king over some money, especially if it could disrupt their other dealings in Kaedwen.
But there was no helping it—Allen's remarkable performance during and after the Trial of the Grasses had made an impression. Vesemir could see that Hughes, Bond, and Fred had developed an overconfidence in Allen, bordering on arrogance. Such a mindset was dangerous, especially when facing the cunning and treacherous Cat School witchers.
The tavern's dinner was far from the lavish feasts of Kaer Morhen. But the hot vegetable soup, fried eggs, cream bread, and beer still satisfied the group after a long day's journey. Fred wiped his plate with bread and suddenly remembered that only two tournament categories had been discussed. He asked, "Master Vesemir, what's the third one? What's the mixed combat?"
Vesemir swallowed the last bite of bread and replied slowly, "Mixed combat isn't always part of the tournament, and it's never the same..." He paused before continuing, "I recall the last one involved fighting an equal number of knights. The one before that was a cooperative hunt with the Cat School to kill drowners."
After another pause, Vesemir added, "This event is usually for entertainment and doesn't count toward the final score." Seeing the lingering worry on their faces, he offered further reassurance: "Although the king may be displeased with the Wolf School, he is still a man of importance. He won't specifically target you."
"So just focus on the Cat School witchers."
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Every witcher school has its own stronghold. The Wolf School has Kaer Morhen in Kaedwen, the Griffin School has Kaer Seren in Poviss, and the Viper School built Gorthur Gvaed in Nilfgaard... Even the Bear School and the Manticore School in the Korath desert have their castles.
Except for the Cat School. They live a nomadic life, wandering with a caravan named Dyn Marv as their base of operations. Their apprentices undergo mutations in hidden locations scattered across the lands, with numerous camps set up for apprentice training.
One such clearing in the forests of Kaedwen was buzzing with activity. Many figures, carrying double swords on their backs, were gathered around a small circle. A strange-looking caravan was parked nearby.
"Clang! Clang!" The sound of steel clashing repeatedly filled the air. Two children, who looked no older than thirteen or fourteen, were fighting with steel swords that seemed too large for their small frames. On closer inspection, both swords gleamed with a sharp edge—they were fully sharpened.
"That's it, you little brats..."
"Damn it! How many times do I have to tell you? Speed! Speed! Speed!"
"Look... Lock your gaze on your opponent's eyes and thrust your sword as fast as possible, no matter who it is... Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!"
It was hard to tell whether the voice was cursing or instructing, but the crazed words came from the shadows inside the caravan, along with the strong smell of cheap beer. Perhaps getting carried away, the speaker suddenly jumped off the caravan. Though the figure wobbled slightly due to the poor alcohol, they landed silently, like a wildcat, and quickly leaped into the middle of the fight between the two children.
"Come on, you brats! Use your swords to kill me!"
The two children didn't flinch at the man's mad behavior. They exchanged a glance, then showed expressions of hateful insanity, and without hesitation, slashed their swords toward him. The onlookers seemed unfazed by the unfair battle, watching with interest. Some even raised their right hands as if they wanted to draw their steel swords and join in the slaughter.
A hooded man leaning against the caravan turned his head and asked, "Treyse, are you sure you want to take on the 'Big Eater's' bounty and hunt those young wolves?"
The bald man next to him, arms crossed, didn't turn around but replied casually, "Why not?"
"Killing a band of bandits only pays 50 Orens, and that's if a noble posts the bounty."
"But a young wolf is worth 500 Orens."
"Unless you're robbing a merchant convoy, even I would have to work half a year to earn that much. Why refuse?"
The hooded man showed a rare display of the Cat School's calm restraint: "Treyse, don't tell me you don't understand what the Big Eater is trying to do?"
"He wants to spark a witcher civil war!"
The bald leader of the Cat School glanced at the amber-colored cat eyes shining under the hood. The owner of those beautiful eyes was one of the few who could maintain his sanity in the school. Instead of answering directly, Treyse remained silent for a while before responding with a seemingly unrelated question: "Guxart, have you ever seen a wildcat?"
"A wildcat?" Guxart was puzzled, unsure of what his leader was getting at. "Of course I have. What's your point?"
The bald Cat School leader Treyse gazed at the bloodied battle in the training ground and said slowly, "The world's food is no longer enough to go around."
"If a wildcat doesn't want to starve, it needs to steal food from wild dogs, curses, and beatings..."
He then turned to Guxart, looking deeply into his eyes with a meaningful expression: "And when necessary, the enemy might even be its kind."
...…
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138. First Arrival at Ban Ard.
139. Aen Saevherne.
140. The Abandoned Castle.
141. The Taste of the Cook's Food.
142. The Black Unicorn.
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