Bab 285: 286. Would the Wolf School Like to Move?
At the entrance of the temple, a black carriage was already waiting.
Allen recognized this carriage; he had seen it not long ago, during the preparations for the May festival's exorcism ritual. He remembered there was a noticeable dent on the front of the carriage roof, a mark left when he charged at a ghoul.
As he approached, Allen instinctively glanced at the top of the carriage.
"Hmm?"
The Witcher let out a soft exclamation.
The dent was still there, but someone had painted a ferocious image of a spiked ghoul around it, framed with golden edges.
"This was the Duke Mason's idea," said the familiar coachman, noticing the Witcher's gaze. With a smile, he explained, "Lord Mason said it's an honor for the carriage to bear a warrior's scar like that..."
"I've never seen Lord Mason appreciate a young man so much."
Allen looked over at the coachman upon hearing this. The coachman realized he hadn't introduced himself yet. Straightening up, he said, "My name is Sayaf Pont. The Duke arranged for me to pick you up, along with Lady Vera, Master Vesemir, and Lady Mary."
He then paused and gave Allen a deep bow, his voice full of sincere gratitude.
"You are a hero of Ellander. Thank you for saving our country."
Allen was momentarily stunned, then felt a warm sensation welling up in his heart.
"Thank you," he replied with a smile. "But it wasn't just my effort alone."
"If you want the truth, Lady Vera is the one who truly turned the tide; she eliminated most of the spirits."
"Of course...of course..." The coachman quickly glanced over at the sorceress, "Lady Vera deserves just as much credit..."
The sorceress smiled faintly, looking quite pleased.
"Without Allen giving me time, I wouldn't have been able to cast such a spell..." she waved her hand dismissively, cutting off the coachman, and entered the carriage.
The coachman was momentarily at a loss, uncertain if the Scarlet Fox, infamous for her vengefulness, was being sincere or sarcastic.
Was she perhaps displeased because he had greeted Master Allen first?
Might she secretly turn him into a loathsome leech?
Would Master Allen end up suffering because of his words?
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The coachman's mind raced, nearly to the point of smoking. But remembering rumors that sorceresses could read minds anytime, anywhere, his face went pale, and he emptied his mind, looking plaintively at Allen.
Allen, of course, was unaware that, in that brief moment, the coachman had already imagined them both being turned into leeches by the scheming Vera and then boiled in the witch's cauldron into ten different potions. However, he could guess the coachman was probably worried about offending Vera, so he offered some reassurance.
"Don't worry, Lady Vera is a very generous sorceress, with a gentle disposition."
Generous... gentle...
The coachman scrutinized the young Witcher's face, falling into silence.
Still.
He dared not think of anything, desperately suppressing each terrifying thought cropping up in his mind. He also feared Allen might say something even more shocking.
Fortunately, at that moment—
"Morning, Allen, Lysa..."
Vesemir and Mary emerged from the temple, drawing the coachman's attention and also the Witcher's gaze.
"Good morning, Master Vesemir, Lady Mary..." Lysa tucked her hair behind her ear and responded respectfully.
"Morning..." Allen replied.
But in the next second, noticing the strange expressions on Vesemir and Mary's faces, he curiously asked, "What's going on with you two?"
"Nothing... nothing..." They both shook their heads, almost in unison, hands raised.
Seeing Allen about to ask further, Vesemir added quickly, "Let's get on the carriage; time is short."
Allen glanced at the sky and, without another word, stepped into the carriage. The others collectively sighed in relief.
Watching the Witcher disappear into the carriage, Mary and Vesemir exchanged a knowing look before following.
Upon entering the carriage, the two of them hesitated for a moment when they saw the sorceress, looking out the window. Then Vesemir took a seat beside Allen, while Mary glanced at the other vacant spot next to Allen but obediently sat by Vera.
"Good...good morning, Lady Vera," Mary greeted her cautiously.
Vera merely replied with a cool "Hmm," not even turning her head.
Damn...
Did the mentor "hear" something?
After a glare at the Witcher, Mary placed her hands neatly on her lap, sitting upright.
Vesemir, witnessing this, seemed too intimidated to greet anyone and closed his eyes, as if meditating.
When Lysa boarded and, under Mary's astonished gaze, unhesitatingly sat beside the Witcher—
"We're off!" the coachman called out.
Then—
Rumble, rumble~
The carriage jolted slightly before smoothly making its way down the mountain.
"What's wrong?" Lysa asked, feeling uneasy under Mary's fixed stare.
Her gaze shifting nervously, Lysa noticed the faint bloodstains on her dress.
Realizing she hadn't bathed in days due to exhausting days of rescue missions, she discreetly glanced at Allen, then carefully shrank back toward the corner, whispering, "Sorry, I forgot to change before coming..."
"No problem..." The Witcher gave Mary a glance, then gently took Lysa's hand, stopping her from retreating into the corner. "We're all used to long journeys; no one cares about such minor things."
Mary glanced at Allen holding Lysa's hand, feeling an inexplicable emptiness. She knew the reason for her discomfort. But after thinking it over. Lysa only knew Vera and Allen in the carriage. Choosing to sit by Vera would indeed take immense courage. Besides, Lysa clearly knew Allen better. So, sitting by him was natural, even expected.
And...
Seeing how exhausted Lysa looked from the rescues, Mary couldn't help but feel admiration.
So—
Mary smiled apologetically and said, "Allen's right; we're all used to roughing it, it doesn't bother us."
After a pause, she looked out the window, then suggested, "We still have a little while until we reach our destination. Why don't you try to get some rest?"
"Thank you," Lysa whispered, then hesitantly glanced at the others in the carriage.
Though very tired, knowing that once they arrived, another busy day might begin... Her childhood etiquette lessons made her reluctant to sleep before strangers, viewing it as unladylike and impolite.
"Mary's right. Rest a bit; I'll wake you when we get there," Allen encouraged.
Lysa looked at the Witcher and heard the firmness in his tone.
Apologizing again, she leaned back against the soft velvet seat.
Within seconds, soft, steady snores filled the carriage.
Rumble~
The carriage jolted slightly. Her somewhat disheveled but delicate face slowly tilted, eventually resting against Allen's shoulder. The faint scent of blood reached Allen's nose, and he let out a soft sigh. He thought for a moment, then lowered himself a bit, allowing Lysa to sleep a bit more comfortably.
"I've never leaned on Allen's shoulder like this…"
Mary, watching the scene before her, felt her emotions—having just calmed from pity and admiration—start to surge again.
Especially when she thought about the suggestion she herself had made for Lysa to rest, an indescribable mix of feelings started welling up, like the overflowing waters of the Pontar River in spring.
She found it difficult to contain.
When Vera, as if sensing something, withdrew her gaze from the window and gave a calm look at Lysa leaning on Allen's shoulder, then glanced over at Mary—
Mary's face immediately flushed, and she awkwardly looked out the window on the other side.
At some point, Vesemir had also opened his eyes, stroking his stubbly chin with his right hand, watching the scene with interest. But when he met Vera's gaze, his smile stiffened, and after giving a somewhat sheepish nod, he closed his eyes and resumed "meditating."
And like that—
They traveled in silence.
Inside the carriage, only the occasional light snoring of the young priestess could be heard, accompanied by the gradually softer creaking of the wheels as Vesemir reminded the coachman to go slower.
Unconsciously—
The others in the carriage started to feel a bit drowsy as well.
However—
The temple of Melitele was not far from the city gates, and despite the leisurely pace, the carriage began to slow down after a little over ten minutes.
They had arrived.
Lysa was gently nudged awake, and after a moment of confusion, she saw something that made her blush instantly.
"Have we arrived?" she asked quietly, trying to shift everyone's attention. Then, nonchalantly stretching like a cat, she used her sleeve to discreetly wipe the shiny spot on the Witcher armor.
"Yes, we've arrived," Allen replied calmly.
In truth—
Everyone present had a perception of over fifty.
Even Mary, who seemed rather unremarkable, had a perception score that surpassed his, reaching 76.
Not to mention—
The shiny spot wasn't something Lysa had drooled while awake.
As they got off the carriage—
Allen glanced around.
Four days was obviously not enough to restore this prosperous city to its former state.
While the corpses in the streets had been cleared away, occasional dark stains could still be seen on the cobblestone ground.
In the distance, remnants of destroyed buildings stood, and near the ruins were tents, presumably for those who had lost their homes.
A faintly foul wind carried the sound of sobbing from all directions.
In this atmosphere, everyone wore faces marked with sorrow.
The coachman, Sayaf Pont, parked the carriage in a large open space inside Ellander City, near the city gates. It was an extensive area with numerous other carriages bearing noble family crests parked nearby. But they weren't the last to arrive; along the long street, other carriages were still arriving.
"Squeak~"
The door of the carriage closed. Inside, Lysa tidied up her clothes before she was the last to step out.
"Follow me…" she murmured softly to the group and led the way ahead.
"Priestess Lysa…"
"Good morning, Priestess Lysa…"
"Good morning, Priestess Lysa, blessings to the goddess Melitele…"
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As they made their way—
People would recognize Lysa from time to time, moving aside with reverence and greeting her with lowered heads.
Lysa nodded and returned each greeting.
And it wasn't only the plainly dressed folks; many were nobility, wearing coats embroidered with family crests and even carrying the scent of perfumes.
Clearly—
Lysa had been doing quite a lot of things in places they were unaware of over the past few days.
Following her through the crowd, they made their way up to the city wall from a secluded spot near the city gate. Their destination seemed to be atop the city gate.
"The May Festival King!"
Just as they emerged from the dim stairwell and stepped out into the daylight, a surprised young voice rang out ahead.
"Whack!"
The sound of a heavy blow followed.
"It's Master Allen!" a deep voice reprimanded.
Allen glanced over.
The familiar silver armor and sword sheath style.
These were Duke Mason's knightly guards, and at least fifty of them stood in neat formation atop the gate.
"Good morning, Master Allen. May Kreve bless your sword, keeping it ever sharp…"
The owner of the deep voice gave a respectful bow, his eyes filled with admiration.
The young man who had been struck for calling out "May Festival King" rubbed his head, muttering something under his breath, but then offered a solemn bow as well, saying: "Good morning, Master Allen…"
And next—
A long line of "Good morning…" greetings followed.
The voices of the knightly guards were so robust that their greetings carried an imposing energy. Curious nobles passing by on the gate wall turned to those beside them, asking about Allen's identity.
At that moment—
The well-dressed crowd gathered at the center of the gate tower parted, opening a path.
"Over here, Master Allen!"
A hoarse, aged voice called out, silencing the area at once.
"It… it's Duke Mason…" Lysa sounded slightly nervous, her voice trembling as she led the way.
As Allen emerged from the gate tower, followed by Vesemir, Vera, and Mary—
For reasons unknown—
The knightly guard with the deep voice simply nodded slightly and greeted Vesemir with a slightly louder "Good morning."
The gate tower was, after all, a military defense structure, so space was limited.
As the Witchers, under the gaze of the nobles craning their necks, approached the old Duke, many of the nobles on the outskirts had to shuffle aside.
Most of the nobles here were older, so no unseemly behavior arose. The old Duke's face looked weary, his skin seeming to sag. He seemed utterly exhausted.
Once the group approached him—
He propped himself up on his cane, lifted his gaze slightly, and nodded in acknowledgment to Vesemir and Vera.
Then—
"Stand beside me!" he ordered sternly.
The old Duke's words caused a stir among the surrounding nobles.
Setting aside his attendants and guards—
In a public setting like this, people of different ranks were expected to stand in appropriate places. The old Duke's side should naturally be reserved for his children or other high-ranking nobles.
At the very least, a count.
Even if no noble of suitable rank was available, the space would be left vacant. But Allen clearly wasn't one to worry about such matters.
He moved past Lysa, who had stopped in her tracks and looked a bit uncomfortable, and stood beside the old Duke under the scrutinizing gazes of the nobles.
"You're impressive!" The old Duke nodded approvingly.
Ignoring the commotion around him, he turned to look down at the city.
The Witcher followed his gaze.
Below, a group of women in priestess robes of the goddess Melitele was gathered around several large vats, busy with some task. But before he could make out what they were doing—
A raspy, authoritative voice suddenly sounded beside his ear: "Would the Wolf School be willing to move to Ellander?"
....
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287. To Whom Should the White Iris Lance Charge!!!
288. Knight Allen.
289. "How Should I Kill Them?"
290. Divine Dreamwalking [Melitele].
291. The Death of Gods, the End of the World.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
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