"Summoning badge, a little gadget Ban Ard distributed to the sorcerers," noticing Allen's curiosity about the badge, Vilgefortz explained, "When the academy faces danger, the headmaster or a few deputy headmasters can activate the badge to summon sorcerers from across the Northern Continent to return for aid..."
"That was something from two or three months ago, born out of the Ban Ard Black Sun incident."
"At that time, most of the academy's main forces were at Aretuza, so they couldn't come to aid immediately, resulting in heavy losses."
"And the summoning badge's current status level..."
He glanced sideways at the badge, which was now glowing with increasingly urgent red light and emitting an even more rapid alarm:
"The City of Ban Ard may already be burning in half, like in the legends of Maribor under Alzur's Double Cross..."
Hearing this, Allen raised an eyebrow, exchanged a glance with Vesemir, who was approaching cautiously, and thought to himself that the alarming disturbance earlier in the afternoon had indeed originated from Ban Ard.
"Vilgefortz, this is..." Lydia walked over, interrupting with a sense of panic.
Vilgefortz shook his head dismissively.
However, he did not continue speaking. Upon seeing the sorceress, he turned his head to look at her without any defense and gently asked: "Are you alright, Lydia?"
"I'm fine," the sorceress replied softly, shaking her head.
But her appearance—skin pale as paper, her breathing heavy and labored, her trembling, faltering legs, and the missing buttons on her chest—likely two of them—left her normally elegant attire in complete disarray...
All these outward signs pointed to one thing...
She wasn't as "fine" as she claimed.
Neither her battle with Vesemir nor Alzur's Thunder spell had been easy for her.
Although Vesemir looked equally battered at first glance, his condition was far from as dire.
Covered in dirt and grass, his chiseled face was drained of color from a mix of alghoul Decoction and Blizzard potion, with black veins visible on his temples. Yet, his steady breathing betrayed the truth—this master witcher still had the strength to fight.
What's more, his dark golden irises were now tinged with a ghostly blue hue.
Even if the Thunder spell had been successfully cast earlier, it likely wouldn't have done much to the experienced Vesemir. On the contrary, it might have given him the chance to decisively defeat the sorceress.
Seeing this, Allen finally let out a long breath of relief.
Without a word, he deactivated Moster Hunt, then crouched to carefully pick up a jade figurine from the ground.
Shock, confusion, grogginess, delight...
Not a single expression of anger or struggle was on its face—one even had a smile.
How absurd!
From the looks of it, the young witcher had either been vastly outmatched in strength, completely unprepared, or perhaps both.
The moment he showed himself, he'd been subdued and turned into a jade figurine through a transformation seal.
Judging by the grim expression on Vesemir's face, the young ones would undoubtedly face consequences after this ordeal.
"Clang! Clang! Clang~"
The summoning badge rang out its impatient chime.
Allen and Vesemir remained silent while Vilgefortz only spared Lydia a brief moment of concern.
When the witcher picked up the jade figurine, not only did Vilgefortz refrain from stopping him, but he also extended an arm to block Lydia as she instinctively stepped forward to intervene. Instead, he stood perfectly still, watching Allen pocket the figurine.
After securing the jade figurine, Allen looked up to see Vilgefortz giving him a refined smile.
If not for the lingering traces of primal magic's murderous intent still clinging to his thoughts, Allen might have mistaken this cordial smile for one shared between old friends who'd just played a harmless joke.
"Truly worthy of being the major boss from the original narrative, adept at maneuvering between the Northern Kingdoms and Nilfgaard, thriving on both sides..."
Allen heightened his vigilance inwardly.
"The anomaly from the North cannot be concealed—they must have noticed it too. Trying to cover for Ban Ard is pointless," Vilgefortz said, gently patting Lydia's shoulder to reassure her.
"However, since we're aligned with Ban Ard, we naturally fall under its obligations. Because of this, some drastic measures had to be taken..."
"Hmph~" Vesemir snorted coldly.
Allen stayed silent.
Vilgefortz had captured the young witcher before the anomaly occurred, even leaving behind what could only be described as a provocative letter.
Allen, however, knew this was just a pretext, a way for both sides to de-escalate the situation.
Why Vilgefortz had suddenly gone from radiating murderous intent to acting amicably, even willing to make concessions, was unclear for now.
But for the witchers, the undeniable fact was that Vilgefortz still held two hostages. They had no choice but to compromise.
As such...
Vesemir said nothing more after his cold snort.
Gentle moonlight spilled over the shattered ground, strewn with rubble and mud, painting it in a tranquil silver hue.
With both sides inclined to ease tensions, the atmosphere naturally began to relax.
"Shh—"
Another jade figurine appeared in Vilgefortz's hand, which he lightly tossed over to Allen.
Right after...
A small chest materialized on the ground before Vilgefortz.
"Artefact compression spell is a powerful spell, and undoing it requires a specific ritual," Vilgefortz explained, gesturing toward the chest. It opened with a snap, revealing black candles, chalk, a two-sided mirror, iron stands, and other items.
Allen frowned as he took the sixth jade figurine.
"Unbinding rituals are prone to tampering, and it's not common to trust strangers to perform them. Especially since our encounter was less than pleasant," Vilgefortz smiled. "However, black wax crafted from doppler blood, finely polished parabolic mirrors, pure crystals..."
"For those unfamiliar with the intricacies of Artefact compression, gathering these materials on short notice would be difficult. And as you're aware..."
"The longer a lifeform remains sealed under this spell, the greater the damage to its organs. So..."
Vilgefortz waved his hand, and the chest floated over to the two witchers' feet.
"These will undoubtedly help you. As for the ritual itself, while you won't trust me, I'm sure you can find a suitable sorcerer, can't you?"
"What's your goal?" Allen asked, frowning deeply.
While it made sense for Vilgefortz to negotiate after an evenly-matched battle in which he failed to secure a decisive upper hand, his current actions—returning the young witcher's figurines and providing a box of valuable unbinding tools—made no sense.
Both sides were destined to be enemies by nature.
After today, they could simply part ways and never cross paths again.
Something felt off, Allen thought.
"What's done is done, and it cannot be undone. However..." Vilgefortz retrieved the final jade figurine from an unknown space and gently placed it on the ground. "There's no fundamental enmity between us, is there?"
"On the contrary..."
Vilgefortz's gaze briefly lingered on Lydia's chest before flicking downward to his own disheveled appearance. The remaining obsidian gemstone embedded in his ceremonial robes appeared almost comical.
"We've suffered great losses—ten years of resources, gone in an instant..."
With a flick of his hand, the summoning badge on the dead white horse's reins detached and, along with the mud-splattered metal staff, flew toward him.
The two witchers just watched without intervening.
This delighted Vilgefortz immensely.
He laughed heartily, brushing the mud off his staff with a carefree air, as if indifferent to worldly possessions. Then, he touched the obsidian gem on his chest.
A dark purple light flickered in the gem's core.
The entire gemstone then detached from his attire, falling beside the jade figurine on the ground.
"I'm a man who admires strong individuals. Today's offense was merely to fulfill the academy's task. This…" he gestured at the gem casually, "is our apology and a token of our first meeting…"
"I believe our paths won't end here today."
With that, Vilgefortz didn't wait for the witchers to respond.
"Boom!"
After a brief incantation, an orange-yellow portal swirled into existence in the wilderness, whipping up a gust of wind.
"Let's go, Lydia," he said, stepping into the portal.
Lydia followed closely behind.
Vesemir and Allen exchanged glances and moved toward the portal, intending to pick up the obsidian gem and the final jade figurine.
Just then—
"Bang!"
The "light spell" orb hovering above their heads suddenly exploded.
The two witchers instinctively crossed their arms, casting Quen signs to shield themselves.
Amid the blinding flash, Allen glimpsed vague, familiar figures through the faint purple glow of his shield.
But in the blink of an eye, it was nothing but pure light.
When he tried to look again—
"Boom!"
The sound of the portal closing pulled his attention, and the bright white light of the "light spell" disappeared entirely.
"Was… was it just an illusion?" Allen frowned.
"Clack, clack, clack~"
While Allen was lost in thought, Vesemir walked over, picked up the obsidian gem and the final jade figurine, and handed them to Allen.
"That Vilgefortz guy doesn't seem so bad!"
"Using a triggerable gem as an apology gift… and an obsidian one at that… Tsk, tsk… What generosity…"
Vesemir didn't suspect any foul play, leaning toward the idea that Vilgefortz had been impressed by Allen's strength.
As for why—
Allen had always been a likable guy.
Who wouldn't appreciate someone so powerful yet filled with boundless potential, and mature enough to not be a burden?
Moreover, who would use an instantly triggerable gem worth tens or even hundreds of thousands of orens as part of a scheme?
The payoff would need to be astronomical to make it worthwhile.
In these increasingly chaotic times, where conflicts arose over loyalties, prejudice, interests, or even trivial disagreements, it was common to reconcile and laugh things off after crossing swords. Sometimes, such encounters even forged lifelong friendships.
Vesemir himself had many such friends—especially dwarves.
If even today's skirmish, which caused almost no damage and brought far more benefit than loss, couldn't be magnanimously accepted, one would only end up with fewer friends and twice as many enemies in the future.
"Honestly, we should've kept him here to help lift the Artefact compression spell on Enri and the others… Lady Vera might not even be back at Kaer Morhen… By the way, Allen, should we continue chasing the griffon? Or should we first—"
"No!" Allen interrupted, shaking his head. "We'll continue tomorrow."
"But Enri and the others—"
"Trust me, Vesemir. Once we've dealt with the griffon, lifting their Artefact compression spell will be faster."
"Huh?" Vesemir looked at him, puzzled.
"And…" Allen paused, narrowing his eyes as he gazed into the darkness under the pure moonlight, as if searching for some hidden truth.
"And what?"
"Vilgefortz can't be trusted! He's dangerous! Extremely dangerous!"
---------------------
"Boom!"
An orange portal opened in the depths of Ban Ard Academy.
As Vilgefortz and Lydia stepped out, they instinctively darted to the sides.
"Boom!"
A towering black spire descended, its star-shaped tip crafted from pure mithril.
This spire was renowned across the Northern Realms, symbolizing the Brotherhood of Sorcerers, the core of northern magic, and the original gathering place of the centuries-old Chapter of the Gift and the Art.
Countless tales, whether mysterious, glorious, vile, or noble, had unfolded here.
Every five years, the most significant mage conclave in the magical world was held in this very place.
In the past, Vilgefortz might have been awestruck by such a scene, but not today.
After dodging, he merely glanced at the ongoing battle. As he had anticipated, half of Ban Ard was ablaze, but the academy seemed to hold the upper hand. Without even noting who their enemies were, he strode directly toward the academy's depths.
Upon activating the recall sigil and returning to the academy, the surrounding noise faded away. This allowed Vilgefortz and Lydia to bypass the burning battlefield bathed in magical glows of various hues and return upstream to his tower unimpeded.
"Vilgefortz, are you okay?"
Seeing this strange behavior, Lydia asked with concern.
"I'm fine!" Vilgefortz replied without looking back.
"But why did you—"
"Shh!" Lydia's words were cut off as Vilgefortz turned, placing a finger to his lips to silence her.
At that moment, she suddenly realized how unfamiliar her once-revered and admired companion had become.
His face was expressionless.
Yet, having spent so much time with him, Lydia could sense that Vilgefortz was as ecstatic as a blazing bonfire on a festive night.
At this moment, with the entirety of Ban Ard engulfed in flames, such fervent excitement felt so alien that it frightened her.
What had happened?
Silently, she followed him back to his tower. Upon entering, they climbed to the second floor, entering Vilgefortz's study, crammed with books and documents.
"Rustle, rustle~"
As soon as they entered, Vilgefortz began rifling through papers in an uncharacteristically haphazard manner. This was unlike him—he had always loathed disorder.
"What… what are you looking for?" she couldn't help but ask.
Then suddenly—
Vilgefortz froze mid-action and began reciting ancient prophecies manically. Nearby lay an intricate map.
"Know this: the time of swords and axes draws near, the age of the wolf amidst snow and storm."
---------------------
"First, Filius Miraculi—the Child of Miracles—shall be born in the land of frost."
"Death and rebirth, a being of no-man shall bring blood and fire."
---------------------
"…Land of frost… death and rebirth… a being of no-man… and…"
Vilgefortz abruptly strode to the window.
"Boom!"
Another tower ignited in flames and collapsed into the night.
The air reeked of iron and charred flesh.
"…Blood and fire!"
"Vil… Vilgefortz…" Lydia called out in terror.
Vilgefortz suddenly turned to her, his bloodshot eyes alight with manic joy.
"The core of Elder Blood's power lies in the lineage…"
"Lydia!"
"What do you think is the source of the Child of Miracles?"
.....
📢20 advanced chapters on p@treaon📢
For advance chapters: p@treon.com/Uchiha_Itachi007 (replace @ with a)
350. The Royal Griffin! The Royal Griffin!
351. Druid Allen?
352. The Royal Griffin!!!
353. The Reason the Royal Griffin Stays High.
354. How Much Did Mason Offer? I'll Triple It!
"Mir... Miracle Child?"
Lydia stepped back in alarm, avoiding Vilgefortz's unfamiliar gaze. Her eyes fell on the two translated prophecy manuscripts on the table.
Recalling his tone, a flash of insight struck her mind: "You're... you're saying that hunter, Allen, is the Miracle Child from Ithlinne's prophecy?"
"Th-this... this... how is this possible?"
"Even if the Miracle Child isn't a human mage, they must surely be an elf. A hunter... a Witcher who only knows how to swing a sword and uses those rudimentary signs that barely qualify as magic—how could they be worthy of the title of Miracle Child..."
Ithlinne's prophecy was known across the world.
Because parts of it had been verified in reality multiple times, countless humans, elves, dwarves, scholars, sorcerers, and nobles studied it.
Even the recently established Kaer Morhen had created a dedicated prophecy study division to analyze this thin collection of verses.
Over decades or even centuries of research, certain interpretations had gained widespread acceptance.
For example, the line "Aen Seidhe—the blood of elves—shall drown the earth, and you shall wail, for the destroyer of nations will come" was often thought to indicate the Miracle Child might be an elf.
Believers in this interpretation also pointed to the phrases "born in a land of bitter cold" and "not fully human." Elves, after all, had been driven by humans to the Blue Mountains and bore a grudge as deep as the destruction of their nations and people.
As this belief gained traction, elves were further pushed into desolate regions, and their hatred for humans deepened, making this hypothesis even more convincing.
Even the elves themselves did not deny it.
Another possibility proposed was that the Miracle Child might be a mage. However, few humans dared to openly advocate this theory.
Instead, this belief was more prevalent among mages, especially male sorcerers.
Mages wield the world's greatest magical powers—capable of razing cities and destroying nations.
And rebellious mages were far from rare; their disasters were countless, like the well-known example of Alzur's double-cross summoning of a Myriapodan, which destroyed half of Maribor.
If not a mage or elf, then at least the Miracle Child should be a human noble.
History recorded numerous noble heirs claiming to be the Miracle Child to seize power. Half-elven nobles were especially notorious for this, and some had even successfully staged coups and ascended to kingship.
Though they lacked unique powers, they controlled the most potent force in the world—authority.
Even sorcerers had to bow their heads to these mundane rulers and serve them.
But Witchers...
These creations of mages, while powerful and capable of slaying dragons, could not cast grand spells like sorcerers to topple fortresses.
Their small numbers and status as outcasts—respected yet never participants in politics—meant they lacked the life-or-death authority wielded by nobles over thousands.
Miracle Child... Could they deserve such a title?
"Lydia, you have mistaken the reflection on the lake's surface for the stars in the night sky," Vilgefortz said with a faint smile, glancing at Lydia.
"The Miracle Child is not called so because of their status or their ability to perform miracles."
"But because, regardless of who they are—human, elf, or dwarf... mage, noble... or even a farmer or a fisherman—no matter how lowly or insignificant their status, they can still create miracles."
"Miracles are, by definition, things that should be impossible to achieve."
Lydia did not retort. Seeing Vilgefortz's mad fervor cooling down, she curiously asked, "Is that hunter truly so powerful?"
The pressure brought by the Witcher Master Vesemir had been immense. From the start of the battle to its end, she had only been able to glance at their skirmish twice, and only when Vesemir was momentarily distracted.
She only knew that the Witcher had evaded Alzur's Thunder and forced Vilgefortz to use the uncontrollable talent of his Chaos Source.
"Powerful?" Vilgefortz shook his head. "It's more than that!"
For a moment, those azure cat-like eyes appeared in his mind again, sending a shiver down his spine.
What kind of eyes were those...
They gazed upon the world like a reaper's stare—lofty, detached.
They didn't resemble the eyes of a seasoned warrior filled with bloodlust. Those eyes bore no killing intent.
Yet anyone who met them felt as if a hand had gripped their throat, their breath choked off. Like livestock awaiting slaughter, they felt as though the mythical scythe of death might sever their life at any moment.
And Vilgefortz knew this was no illusion.
In that brief exchange, his Chaos Source revealed to him his own demise.
"The Blue Death... the Blue Death..."
Unconsciously, he rubbed his slender neck, where the cool sensation lingered.
Feeling closer, it was a bit sticky—only sweat dried by the wind.
One day, such power will be mine!
Clenching his fists, Vilgefortz thought to himself.
"Boom!"
An explosion outside the window snapped Vilgefortz out of his thoughts.
"Lydia!"
"I'm here!"
"Gather every piece of information about Allen for me... discreetly. Don't let anyone else know."
"Not let anyone else know? What about Ban Ard? Or Sunny..."
"Don't tell them either!" Vilgefortz interrupted sternly. "We rushed back after receiving the academy's warning."
"But if Sunny asks about it..."
"They won't ask," Vilgefortz replied, walking to the window. "Right now, who would have the time to care about two 'irrelevant' Witchers?"
Lydia followed his gaze.
The academy was in ruins.
At least a quarter of the buildings lay collapsed into rubble—some ablaze, others encased in frost, pierced by stone pillars, or shattered...
Of course.
The distant city of Ban Ard fared even worse. Black smoke billowed, engulfing the city. From the Mage Tower, even human screams and cries could be heard.
Indeed.
With Ban Ard Academy, the foundation of male mages, in such a state, no one knew how many had died.
Coupled with the ongoing war with Aedirn, even if Sunny survived today, they wouldn't have the energy to focus on the Witchers anytime soon.
"Let's go." Vilgefortz lightly patted Lydia's shoulder.
She paused, puzzled. "Where to?"
"We returned because of the academy's warning. Naturally, we go to assist at Ban Ard... But I do wonder—what kind of enemy could turn the holy land of mages into this?" Vilgefortz said, walking toward the door.
"Seems like the Wild Hunt..." Lydia followed closely. "I overheard people shouting and cursing that name earlier..."
"The Wild Hunt?" Vilgefortz paused briefly, gray light flickering unpredictably in his eyes. "The Miracle Child from the prophecy and the mythical scourge from legend..."
"This is going to be interesting!"
---------------------------The Next Day
A nameless path along the riverbank.
"You're saying... uh... this rope can tame the Royal Griffin?"
Vesemir's face was full of doubt. "And... and after taming the Royal Griffin, we'll ride it to Ellander to find High Priestess Ianna to break the curse?"
No one had ever tamed a Royal Griffin before. In fact, no one had even safely approached an ordinary griffin...
Wait!
There were indeed those who managed to tame flying beasts—but only among the most unconventional and daring knights.
Truthfully, humans could only utilize magical creatures; taming them in the way Allen described had never been done—or at least, he had never heard of it.
"Exactly."
Allen nodded seriously, putting away the massive Behemoth Snare from the One-Eyed Clan.
To be honest, he felt a bit unsure himself. After all, he had never used this tool before and had only seen members of the One-Eyed Clan capturing giant beasts in cutscenes.
Could items from another world work on a Royal Griffin in the world of witchers? Would they even be compatible?
Allen wasn't certain. He could only trust the annotations and descriptions in his Witcher's Journal.
In fact, if Vesemir hadn't insisted on asking out of a sense of responsibility, and if breaking the young witcher's curse weren't such an urgent matter, Allen wouldn't have mentioned this idea at all.
"We already figured out the way across the river this morning. Capturing a Royal Griffin won't take too long," Allen reassured Vesemir, who looked skeptical. "Three days. If we can't catch a Royal Griffin within three days, we'll head to Ellander right away."
"That way, even if we don't catch the Royal Griffin, we'll still reach Melitele's temple to lift the curse within a week."
Based on the original story, the Artefact compression spell would allow even a physically frail sorceress like Yennefer to persist in her petrified state for forty-five days.
Given that the young witcher was physically stronger and had better regenerative abilities, he should be able to endure even longer.
But life wasn't something to gamble with. Allen decided to set a strict time limit, especially since they hadn't yet found a good spot to hunt the Royal Griffin. Who knew how long that might take?
Then again, if they could capture the Royal Griffin, they could fly to Ellander in just one day.
Considering the war between Aedirn and Kaedwen and its potential impact on the School of the Wolf, this risk was worth taking.
Speaking of wars…
How had the battle between the Wild Hunt and Ban Ard gone last night?
"A week it is, then," Vesemir agreed, but not without grumbling. "These brats need to learn a lesson. I told them to practice Quen this afternoon, and some of them dared to fall asleep..."
"I've said it a thousand times: once you leave Kaer Morhen, you must always, always stay vigilant. And yet, they sleep instead of meditating!"
The more Vesemir thought about it, the angrier he got, his mustache practically bristling with fury.
Allen couldn't help but chuckle.
After returning to the inn last night, Vesemir had been fuming as he examined the seven statues, each depicting a different expression. The sight of three particular young witchers—nodding off, bleary-eyed, or laughing outright—had made him even more irate.
He'd scolded those three statues at length until Allen reminded him that those under the Artefact compression spell were oblivious to their surroundings. Only then did Vesemir stop. Otherwise, he might've lectured them all night.
Allen, who had spent valuable battle merit points from his Witcher's Corps to obtain the spell, was initially the one who should have been angrier. But Vesemir's reaction had completely defused his frustration.
"I'm sure after this experience, Krei, Ice, and Spencer will learn their lesson!"
"They'd better!" Vesemir snapped, waving his hand dismissively.
The weather was clear, and the summer currents of the river glistened under the sun.
Riding for only a short while, the two witchers reached a wooden bridge.
The bridge spanned an unnamed tributary of the Alba River, not far—about 700 meters—from where the river split into two channels.
Crossing the bridge, they found that the second channel was formed by numerous shallow streams, which could easily be crossed on horseback.
This wasn't exactly a secret.
At the first village they visited that morning, someone had already told them about it.
But for non-locals, encountering a divided waterway and having another route available often discouraged them from continuing onward.
"Whoosh—"
A sudden gust of wind rustled the forest.
Vesemir seemed to sense something and pulled at his reins, looking up.
Allen followed his gaze.
A black dot approached from the northeast, quickly soaring over the birch forest before heading southwest.
"Buzz—"
The witcher medallions around their necks vibrated faintly.
"It's early."
Vesemir urged his horse forward with a nudge, continuing down the path.
Allen casually patted his horse, Carrot, on her slender, upright neck, guiding her to avoid the muddy potholes that could hurt her hooves.
"As long as the direction's right, it's fine."
And indeed, the direction was correct.
After crossing several shallow streams, the two witchers encountered no further obstacles and soon reached the area opposite where they had lost the Royal Griffin the day before.
At the same time—
"Caw, caw, caw—"
Annoying drowners emerged from the water to cause trouble.
Of course, to two master witchers, these were no real threat.
Without even dismounting, they took turns using Igni signs and their silver swords to clear the area of drowners in no time.
Once they reached the destination, they dismounted, loosely tying their horses' reins to nearby trees, ready to leap onto them at a moment's notice if the Royal Griffin appeared.
Allen began clearing a small patch of land near the riverbank, ensuring it was dry and level. Meanwhile, Vesemir marked the bridge and shallow streams on his map.
The two of them then knelt on the ground and began meditating.
Some might wonder: since they knew the Royal Griffin's direction, why not chase after it immediately instead of meditating?
But seasoned travelers knew that navigating an ancient forest often led to disorientation.
The dense canopy blocking the sky, the uneven terrain, and the occasional battle made it nearly impossible to use distant mountains as reference points. Veering off course was almost inevitable.
When it came to hunting a Royal Griffin, taking time to prepare was the real way to save time.
"Three hours," Vesemir estimated before closing his eyes.
Allen shut his eyes too but didn't immediately enter meditation.
"Thump, thump."
His heartbeat slowed in a unique rhythm.
In an instant, golden specks of light shimmered in his bloodstream.
Slowing his heartbeat wasn't for practicing "Beast Roar: Berserk," but "Beast Roar: Wild Speech."
After being slower than Vesemir in sensing things earlier, and considering that "Beast Roar: Berserk" had reached a bottleneck, Allen figured he might as well try "Beast Roar: Wild Speech," which he had only tested when he first acquired it.
As his heartbeat slowed, his entire body relaxed.
"Why does it feel so much smoother this time?" he wondered.
Soon, brown earth-elemental magic merged with the golden energy, rising to his tongue—
And just like that, Allen fell into a deep sleep.
Until…
"Skreee—"
A magical beast's cry echoed from the high skies above.
.....
📢20 advanced chapters on p@treaon📢
For advance chapters: p@treon.com/Uchiha_Itachi007 (replace @ with a)
351. Druid Allen?
352. The Royal Griffin!!!
353. The Reason the Royal Griffin Stays High.
354. How Much Did Mason Offer? I'll Triple It!
355. The Truth Exposed?
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