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79.85% The Witcher: Wolf School's Hunting Notes / Chapter 337: 338. Repaying a Favor or Owing One?

Bab 337: 338. Repaying a Favor or Owing One?

When the witchers returned to the crossroads, the moon was still high in the night sky.

The campfire crackled and popped, while snores rose intermittently from the tents, making the howling mountain wind feel less desolate and adding a touch of life to the scene.

"Is it your turn to keep watch tonight?"

The two witchers tied their horses and asked the approaching witcher, Krei, "Where are the merchants, Ryan and Charles?"

"Just saw them heading that way."

Krei, still groggy, pointed toward a thicket of bushes where shadows of trees and leaves flickered faintly, seemingly illuminated by firelight. There were likely people there.

Vesemir and Allen exchanged glances.

Ryan and Charles had been keeping watch with Krei to discuss the situation in Vergen that Allen and Vesemir had scouted. But for some reason, they had chosen to hide in a corner.

Smack!

Vesemir gave Krei a slap on the back of his neck, jolting the young witcher awake instantly.

"Focus while you're on watch; no dozing off!" the witcher master scolded softly before heading in the direction Krei had pointed.

Allen cast a sympathetic glance at the younger witcher, who was making a grimace, and followed close behind.

----------------------

Rustle, rustle.

After only a few steps deeper into the woods, the night wind carried faint, fragmented voices.

"…Today was Angren Free Company's failure… the payment…" Ryan's voice was broken up by the chaotic wind.

"Ryan, let's not bring it up again," came the voice of the plump merchant, Charles, gradually becoming clearer as they walked closer. "We've worked together for so many years… Today… Today's mishap was all caused by Sally's impulsiveness. It even cost you so many brothers…"

"Charles, Sally is still young. Ultimately, it's my fault for not considering it thoroughly… I feel guilty taking this money…"

"Don't be stubborn, Ryan. You're not young anymore either… If you don't take this payment, what about your fallen brothers? How will you take care of their families…"

"I…"

"Enough. If you truly feel guilty, then be more vigilant on the rest of this journey. Make sure we safely reach Lasterburg…"

"But…"

"It wasn't our fault. Who could have expected that the usual route would suddenly become a battlefield between Kaedwen and Aedirn? War, war—it's war that took my Lys…"

Listening to the conversation, the witchers exchanged glances.

Typically, it was mercenaries—those who sold their strength and lived by the sword—who complained about insufficient pay, leading to disputes with their employers.

But it was rare to see mercenaries proactively offer to reduce their pay because they felt they had failed to protect their employer.

A mercenary desperate to decline payment, and a merchant insistent on giving it—this was indeed unusual…

However…

Since the conversation wasn't about plotting anything against them, the two witchers decided not to eavesdrop further.

------------------------

Ahem.

Vesemir cleared his throat and made some noise deliberately.

It didn't take long for two figures—a tall one and a plump one holding torches—to emerge from the woods.

In the torchlight, the stout merchant Charles appeared pale, his hair slightly disheveled, and he seemed in poor condition.

But when he saw Allen and Vesemir, he quickly stepped forward, forcing a smile as he asked urgently: "Master Vesemir, Master Allen, what's the situation in Vergen? Is it under siege? Should we take a detour?"

"Vergen is perfectly fine, everything is normal. Rest for the night; you can head out in the morning," Vesemir replied with a sheepish smile. "It turns out the information we received was false."

"That happens. No harm done; it's a relief to hear everything's fine," the plump merchant sighed in apparent relief.

He tactfully refrained from asking what kind of false information could make nine skilled witchers rush to Vergen.

Just as the witchers hadn't inquired why the merchants were traveling around recklessly during a time of war.

"But since it was false information, what are your plans now?" Ryan asked curiously as he maneuvered his torch around low-hanging branches.

Charles' eyes lit up at the question, and he quickly added, "If you haven't decided on your next destination, why not travel with us to Lasterburg? We'll make sure the pay is worth your while."

"No," Vesemir said, glancing at Allen and shaking his head. "We have other matters to attend to and will part ways with you after leaving Vergen tomorrow."

"That's a shame…" Charles said, clearly disappointed.

As they headed back toward the camp, Allen suddenly seemed to recall something.

"By the way," he said, "it would be best for you to avoid Vengerberg if you pass near it."

Charles and Ryan both stopped, puzzled.

"Why?"

"Word is that there are daily monster attacks there," Allen explained. "And even before Aedirn declared war on Kaedwen two months ago, Vengerberg was rounding up armed mercenaries and drifters to send to the frontlines. The situation is likely even worse now."

The merchant and the mercenary exchanged glances before turning back to Allen, expressing their thanks simultaneously.

Vengerberg, after all, was Aedirn's capital—a prosperous city with well-maintained roads. The merchant caravan had indeed been planning to restock supplies there.

If things were as the witchers described, they might have entered the city only to find themselves trapped.

"We owe you both another huge favor…" Ryan said with a sigh.

Allen, smiling, quipped, "Then how about repaying one now?"

Ryan froze briefly, then immediately stopped walking, turning to face the witcher solemnly.

"Master Allen, please speak. The Angren Free Company will do our best to oblige."

"It's nothing major," Allen said, waving his hand to show it wasn't a big deal. "Kaer Morhen is isolated in the mountains, and information is slow to reach us. This false information had us running in vain. I'd like to ask if you could send a letter to Kaer Morhen every month or two, recording any events you think the School of the Wolf should know about."

"Ah, that's hardly a big favor," Ryan said, shaking his head.

"Our Charles Trading Company can handle that too," the merchant chimed in quickly. "Even though our scale isn't large yet, we have branches in Aedirn, Kaedwen, Temeria, and the United Kingdom of Lyria and Rivia."

"Then I'll leave it to you," Allen said with a warm smile.

The delays caused by outdated information had been frustrating.

The situation in Vergen hadn't been a secret, yet because of the lack of timely information, Vesemir's status, and the School's strained relations, they had rushed over in haste.

At least this time, it was a harmless request they could take or leave.

But what about the next time?

The environment for witchers on the Continent was visibly deteriorating, and who could guarantee that the next situation wouldn't be a trap?

Allen knew they couldn't wait until everything was perfect or until the School had enough members to station someone in every major city. He needed to start building a basic intelligence network, even if it was scattered and makeshift.

Though Allen was no expert in such matters, he had to try something.

Ryan and Charles seemed trustworthy, and for now, the task didn't demand complete reliability.

"This is our honor."

"Our great honor."

Both of them readily agreed and began asking how to deliver letters to Kaer Morhen.

"Uh..."

This was something Allen really didn't know much about.

All this time, delivering and receiving letters had always been Vesemir's responsibility.

"Below the Blue Mountains where Kaer Morhen is located, there's a village called Kael. You can..." Vesemir seemed to let out a soft sigh, his expression complicated as he glanced at Allen, before explaining the method to send the letters step by step.

Once the master witcher finished explaining, Allen thought for a moment and said, "Sending letters isn't cheap, and we can't let you bear the cost..."

"Master Allen, please don't say that!" Ryan said urgently. "If not for you, I'd have long been ghoul food, and the Angren Free Company would have been wiped out..."

"Exactly! Besides, the cost of sending a letter isn't that high..." Charles chimed in.

"Maybe not for one or two months, but in the long run, it's not sustainable," Allen interrupted, shaking his head.

He thought for a moment, then retrieved a few vials of Necrophage Oil from his pouch and handed them to Ryan.

"This is Necrophage Oil. Coat your blade with it, and it'll make fighting drowners, ghouls, and other necrophages much easier."

Ryan instinctively took the bottles, about to argue further, but froze in surprise.

Before he could say anything, Charles carefully cradled the vials in both hands, inspecting them with reverence.

"Master Allen, you're being modest. This… this is far more than 'a little easier.'"

"Hm? You've heard of Necrophage Oil?" Allen asked curiously.

Charles nodded.

"Half a month ago, while passing through La Valette, I saw it. It's been widely discussed across Temeria. With this oil on a blade, even a steel sword can function like a silver one."

"What?!"

Ryan exclaimed, nearly dropping the vials. Recovering, he clutched the red-tinted potion tightly to his chest, terrified of losing it.

Having fought ghouls earlier in the day, he knew better than anyone the significance of a steel sword functioning as a silver one.

Silver weapons were expensive and wore out quickly.

Though the Angren Free Company provided its members with silver weapons, they were often just thinly silver-coated.

When faced with hordes of ghouls like earlier, most of those coatings wore off quickly.

As the battle dragged on, most mercenaries could only use shields to fend off the creatures, leaving only the heavily armored few to deal any real damage.

Had they possessed Necrophage Oil then, they might not have been able to destroy the ghouls entirely, but their front line would have held much longer.

"Master Allen, where can we buy this potion? How much for a vial?" Ryan asked hesitantly, his eagerness plain.

"You can't buy it," Charles interjected, shaking his head. "It's produced by the Alchemy Workshop of Vera the Red Fox in Aretuza. Currently, only the monster hunting team of Ellander has access to it."

"What?! Even the royal guards in Vizima, Temeria's capital, don't have it yet?" Ryan was stunned.

Charles, who clearly had researched Necrophage Oil, nodded firmly.

It was no wonder. As long as drowners and ghouls existed in this world, no merchant could resist the allure of such a commodity.

Ryan was crestfallen for a moment before realizing something didn't add up.

Wait! If even Vizima doesn't have this, how did I get it?

Charles seemed to come to the same realization. The two turned simultaneously to Allen.

"Necrophage Oil is Allen's invention," Vesemir said, glancing at Allen, who didn't object, and continued, "His alchemy teacher is none other than Vera the Red Fox, and her workshop produces and sells potions on his behalf."

Charles and Ryan: ?

A witcher—masters of swordplay and basic magic—also an alchemist, apprenticed to the famous Vera, inventing revolutionary alchemical formulas?

These seemingly contradictory identities combined in one person?

And then they studied Allen's youthful yet commanding demeanor. And he's only fourteen!

Under their incredulous stares, Allen gave a slight nod.

"The Necrophage Oil formula is indeed mine."

For a moment, the forest was silent except for the rustling leaves in the mountain wind and the occasional popping of torch resin.

"It all makes sense now..." Charles's plump face lit up with excitement, though he struggled to contain it. "Master Allen and Master Vesemir were both in Ellander during the May Festival over a month ago."

"Necrophage Oil started circulating shortly after."

"Incredible... truly incredible. Master Allen, not only have you achieved the rank of Witcher Master at such a young age, but you've also made remarkable strides in alchemy..."

Charles, ever the merchant, quickly moved from astonishment to effusive praise.

Allen, however, understood the subtext behind his words.

"You want to obtain the rights to sell Necrophage Oil?" he asked.

Charles stiffened, his pale, round face shaking in denial. Before he could reply, Allen cut him off.

"You can."

"Uh?" Charles froze, then immediately turned serious. "What do I need to offer in exchange?"

"Bring Ryan along," Allen said, glancing at the mercenary captain. "And, as we discussed earlier, send regular reports to Kaer Morhen. That's all."

"When you meet Vera, I'll let her know your name for the workshop's records."

To Charles and Ryan, Necrophage Oil might be a priceless treasure. To Allen, it was just another mundane potion.

After all, granting distribution rights to a merchant only helped him make more money.

As for concerns about affecting other witchers' livelihoods...

The conjunction has changed the land around Ban Ard that even Aedirn was starting to feel the effects.

In the future, witchers were more likely to lament having too many monsters to hunt rather than too few.

"Only for Necrophage Oil at the moment," Allen added.

"Only for Necrophage Oil?" Charles hesitated. Was he implying there were other types of oils?

After a few seconds of hesitation, Charles asked, "Why are you being so generous with us?"

Allen replied nonchalantly, "Maybe I just find you two agreeable."

With that, he nodded to Vesemir, and the two witchers headed back to camp, leaving Charles and Ryan standing there in stunned silence.

"Charles," Ryan finally asked, "are we repaying a favor or owing an even bigger one?"

.....

📢20 advanced chapters on p@treaon📢

For advance chapters: p@treon.com/Uchiha_Itachi007 (replace @ with a)

339. Strange Strengths and Lifts.

340. Hunting the Royal Griffin.

341. The Demon Opened Its Crimson Eyes.

342. The Disappearance of the Seven Witchers.

343. Vesemir's Anger and Astonishment.


next chapter

Bab 338: 339. Strange Strengths and Lifts.

The next day.

"Don't bring your damn magical trinkets near the magical materials I purchased!"

A loud-voiced dwarf was yelling at the sturdy stone gates of Vergen, forcing guards equipped with magical emblems to back off and allowing a caravan to quickly enter the city.

This was Houghton Qui-Gon, the lord of Vergen—a dwarven master blacksmith who had been lured to Aedirn by King Demavend II due to his forging skills.

Perhaps knowing that witchers disliked getting involved in the conflicts between nations, Houghton did not alert the knights sent by King Demavend specifically to request that the witchers take care of the griffon problem.

He had come to Vergen's gates early, noticing that Vesemir and Allen both carried the standard mercenary look with their swords at their waists. He concocted an excuse to let the caravan pass through the heavily guarded checkpoint.

Otherwise, with all the magical detection devices in the guards' hands, the witchers might not have made it through undetected.

"Houghton Master, every caravan entering or leaving Aedirn must be checked. This is the regulation set by—"

"I don't care about your damned regulations! Who knows if these little trinkets made by mages will ruin the purity and structure of my materials! This is all for that cunning little brat, Demavend II..."

A small dwarf, with a big voice.

Houghton Qui-Gon, whose mouth had no filter, berated the armored guard captain to the point that he retreated step by step. In the end, the captain had no choice but to let the caravan through.

"Alright, alright, Master Houghton. Stop talking. We'll let them in, we'll let them in!"

"Smart choice," the dwarf said, crossing his arms in satisfaction. He then turned to a pudgy merchant and barked, "Get in here and deliver everything to the lord's residence! My child can't wait to be born!"

The merchant named Charles looked momentarily confused.

He had no idea what this hot-tempered, bearded dwarf had ordered from him. However, years of experience in business and observing people told him something as he noticed the dwarf's gaze flicking toward the group behind him.

"Y-yes, Master Houghton," he stammered, then called out to his assistants and coachman, whipping the mules to pull the wagon into the city.

"Houghton is apologizing!" Vesemir remarked, leading his horse and hiding behind one of the wagons. As they passed the grumpy-looking dwarf, Vesemir tipped his wide-brimmed black hat subtly as a gesture.

"Houghton rarely meddles in Vergen's affairs, let alone intervenes at the gates, where guards sent by the king inspect for spies and caravans."

Though Houghton Qui-Gon bore the title of lord of Vergen, in practice, it was only a formality bestowed by Demavend II. The real work was carried out by humans appointed by the king.

At this moment, the guard captain, who had been berated into silence, was carefully observing the caravan with his magical detection device. His wary gaze shifted between the people in the caravan and the seemingly flustered dwarf. Clearly, he was suspicious of Houghton.

"Dwarves are like that. They never apologize outright but will find ways to make up for their mistakes," Vesemir said with a helpless smile.

"Will Houghton be alright?" Allen glanced at the captain out of the corner of his eye.

The captain had called over a few subordinates, quietly instructing them to send a message to the checkpoints ahead and to the king.

"Demavend II values him highly; he should be fine," Vesemir replied. "Besides, once we deal with the griffon, the king will be even less likely to hold this against him."

After a pause, Vesemir lowered his voice, saying, "Allen, once the griffon is gone, even if no one sees us do it, someone in Aedirn is bound to suspect us. Are you sure... this won't cause problems?"

"As long as we're not caught, it's fine," Allen said, leading his horse with a slight smirk. "Griffons aren't common monsters. If one suddenly appears and then disappears, it's entirely normal."

"As long as we don't announce it ourselves, no one can be sure it was us who hunted the griffon."

Vesemir nodded but still seemed uneasy.

Allen didn't try to convince him further. Vesemir, going against centuries of neutrality to hunt the griffon based on his advice, was already more than Allen had expected.

Of course, Allen had a more compelling reason, though it wasn't something he could easily explain to the witcher master.

As long as they weren't discovered—or even if they were—so long as they didn't admit to it themselves, the chances of Vesemir's imagined troubles arising were slim to none.

After all…

Who would imagine, or even believe, that the famously upright and neutral School of the Wolf would secretly risk their lives to kill a griffon just to prevent a bloody war from ending too soon?

------------------

Since the caravan had drawn suspicion, after unloading parts of the ghoul carcasses at Houghton Qui-Gon's stone house, Charles sought Vesemir and Allen's opinion before leaving Vergen immediately.

On the way out, the witchers separated from the caravan, letting Charles and the men from Lyenn draw the guards' attention away.

Even if Aedirn's men found out about the witchers' presence, it wouldn't be a big deal.

This wasn't Kaedwen, where they had to constantly guard against sorcerers and nobles trying to use the chaos of war to eliminate them.

In Aedirn, the most extreme thing Demavend II could do would be to force them into hunting the griffon. Of course, it was better to stay unnoticed.

Descending the mountain, they arrived at a fork in the road. Vesemir was trying to discern their direction.

Tipping his black hat, Vesemir said, "There's a village not far ahead. We can rest there for a day before moving on."

"What do you think?"

Allen had no objections.

They were deep inside Aedirn's territory now, so there was no need to keep traveling day and night as before.

Would the sorcerers from Ban Ard really pursue them into enemy territory?

If one were foolish enough to follow them into Aedirn, the roles of hunter and prey might very well reverse.

"Sure, let's rest for a day and recuperate," Allen agreed.

The moment Allen spoke, the weary younger witchers burst into cheers.

"Finally! This mountain life isn't for witchers. I haven't bathed in ten days!"

"Same here! The blisters on my thighs just keep popping and coming back. It's agony!"

"Riding every day is torture..."

"All this meditating—I haven't had a good night's sleep in days..."

Vesemir's brows furrowed deeper and deeper. Hearing the last complaint, he couldn't help but rebuke: "Even if we find a place to rest, meditation must not stop! As long as we're not in Kaer Morhen, you must replace sleep with meditation."

"Didn't I tell you all before? Many witchers from the School of the Wolf have died because they let their guard down in the wild..."

"Erik was killed by the swamp crones at night in Gors Velen. Tranmere lost his soul to a banshee in Redania's Monte Calvo. Iramus even had his throat torn out by a pack of wolves..."

On and on he went, lecturing them.

The young witchers groaned and gave accusing looks to the one who had mentioned meditation.

"You wanted to sleep? You could've done it quietly. Why bring it up?"

The village of Dolay wasn't far, and amidst their chatter and complaints, they arrived at an inn in the village by noon.

After lunch, Allen didn't rest immediately. Instead, he visited the village herbalist and bought a few vials of dog tallow and some white myrtle.

Hybrid Oil wasn't a commonly used type of blade oil. When Allen first obtained the formula, he brewed a few bottles, but not enough to supply all nine witchers.

Of course, the Royal Griffin was a large flying monster, second only to dragons among flying creatures. Allen and Vesemir didn't intend to bring the other witchers along; it was too dangerous.

However, they still had to prepare for the possibility of an accidental encounter with the griffin to avoid being completely defenseless.

Preparing thoroughly before a hunt was a virtue all witchers should uphold.

Unfortunately, he hadn't yet unlocked the beehive bomb recipe. Otherwise, he could have gathered all three of the griffin's official weaknesses from the game: beehive bombs, Hybrid Oil, and the Aard sign.

The production of Hybrid Oil was neither difficult nor demanding.

Unwilling to be inconvenienced, Allen spent a few copper coins borrowing a cauldron and brewed all the blade oil in the herbalist's hut before returning to the inn.

"Bang~"

The wooden door was gently shut.

The room's soundproofing wasn't great, and voices filtered through the walls.

"Ice, Hughes, Claral… tsk tsk... Looks like Ice is about to get unlucky again." Allen listened for a few seconds, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

After briefly cleaning himself to wash away the fatigue of recent days, the witcher focused his thoughts and opened the Witcher's Journal.

[Loot Acquired: Greater Ghoul Heart Extract x1, Ghoul Heart Extract x37, Rotfiend Heart Extract x8, Experience Orbs x12, Greater Ghoul Treasure Chests x5, Ghoul Treasure Chests x5, Rotfiend Treasure Chests x5]

The previous day, after saving Charles's caravan from corpse monsters at the old battlefield, Allen had only glanced at the hunting evaluation. He spent 1,500 achievement points to upgrade the Quen signs of three young witchers—except for Erni and Claral—to Level 3.

The rest of the spoils hadn't been reviewed yet, as outsiders were present at the time.

"Rotfiend Heart Extract?"

When Allen opened the system notification and saw this, his gaze froze for a moment.

During the hunting evaluation, he hadn't noticed that rotfiends could even drop heart extract.

"This is absurd. The rotfiend self-destructed in the end; how was heart extract even obtained?"

Allen found it incomprehensible.

Heart extracts and purified spirits weren't conjured from thin air; they were always derived from the monster's physical body.

He had tested this before.

Purified spirits were generated immediately upon slaying specter-type monsters by some unknown means.

Heart extracts, on the other hand, were derived from the creature's heart only after the hunt was settled.

Allen's current permissions allowed him to briefly opt out of extraction during the settlement process.

But what about the rotfiend?

Did the Witcher's Journal piece together the rotfiend's fragments and body fluids from the ground?

At this thought, Allen recalled the rotfiend's foul-smelling secretions and felt a wave of nausea.

"Forget it. No point in overthinking. The Witcher's Journal has more secrets than just this."

Shaking his head to suppress the rising disgust, Allen concentrated and consumed all the rotfiend heart extracts.

Sure enough.

The stench of the rotfiend was also present in its heart extract.

The moment the liquid touched his throat, the witcher almost gagged. It was like swallowing an old, moldy sock wrapped around a rotten egg.

After testing one portion to ensure no adverse effects, Allen gritted his teeth and downed the remaining seven extracts.

Instantly.

It felt like hundreds of rotten eggs exploded in his stomach.

The witcher quickly held his breath to fend off the overpowering nausea.

"Damn it!"

With his mouth tightly shut and breath held, he cursed inwardly. Then, focusing his thoughts, he saw the changes in his attributes.

The witcher's expression grew twisted and complicated.

[Name: Allen][Level: 50]

[Health: 100%, Stamina: 610/610, Mana: 780/780]

[Attributes: Strength 66, Agility 61, Constitution 61 (-4), Perception 75, Mysticism 78]

[Affinity: Water 15 (Magic Source: Water 5%), Earth 10 (Magic Source: Earth 0%), Wind 9, Fire 6 (+2), Space 2]

Not only had his attributes not increased, but he had also lost four points of constitution.

However!

However!

The rotfiend heart extract had increased his fire affinity!

Even though eight extracts only added two points, it was fire affinity!

Aside from purified spirits from Cyclopes or Trolls that evenly raised all four elemental affinities, no other large monster Allen had encountered could improve fire affinity.

And the rotfiend wasn't even a large monster.

For the first time, the witcher saw hope of raising all four elemental affinities above ten this year.

Who knew if something special would happen when all four elemental affinities surpassed ten...

All in all, trading four constitution points for two fire affinity points was worth it!

But now came the problem...

"Based on the normal limit of twenty attribute increases per monster type, I still need twelve more rotfiends and twelve more extracts..."

Finding rotfiends wasn't too difficult; although rare, they could still be located. But the last experience...

The lingering foul taste in his esophagus resurfaced faintly, and Allen's complexion paled slightly. He focused his thoughts.

[Use Greater Ghoul Heart Extract x1?]

The cold liquid flowed down his throat.

As it passed through his esophagus, it was absorbed by the inner lining, washing away the residual nauseating stench.

Before it reached his stomach, it transformed into a surge of heat that spread throughout his body.

[Health: 100%, Stamina: 640/640, Mana: 780/780]

[Attributes: Strength 69 (+3), Agility 61, Constitution 64 (+3), Perception 75, Mysticism 78]

[Affinity: Water 15 (Magic Source: Water 5%), Earth 11 (Magic Source: Earth 1%) (+1), Wind 9, Fire 6, Space 2]

"Phew~"

The stench left behind by the rotfiend extract was finally cleansed, and the witcher exhaled a long sigh of relief as he shifted his attention back to the loot.

"Another twelve experience orbs... That makes ninety-eight orbs now. Just two more, or..." He opened the inventory to check his stash of minor experience orbs. "...or another 120 minor orbs, and I'll have enough to unlock the next roar in the Path of Roars—Beast Roar: Whisper of Life."

"Two orbs are easier to gather," he thought. "I wonder what kind of evaluation capturing the Royal Griffin will yield..."

As for the remaining treasure chests from greater ghouls, rotfiends, and ghouls, he decided to hold onto them. Once the Royal Griffin was captured, he would fly straight to the Temple of Melitele to open them.

After taking stock of his gains, the witcher, brimming with anticipation for the next roar in the Path of Roars, stowed away the Witcher's Journal.

The room's window faced north.

The scorching summer sunlight streamed through the wooden lattice, illuminating every speck of dust in the room's air.

Allen's gaze passed through the window, focusing on the distant Blue Mountains, as a question crossed his mind.

A week had passed—had the Wild Hunt made its way to Ban Ard yet?

.....

📢20 advanced chapters on p@treaon📢

For advance chapters: p@treon.com/Uchiha_Itachi007 (replace @ with a)

340. Hunting the Royal Griffin.

341. The Demon Opened Its Crimson Eyes.

342. The Disappearance of the Seven Witchers.

343. Vesemir's Anger and Astonishment.

344. The Limit of Attributes.


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