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85.54% The Witcher: Wolf School's Hunting Notes / Chapter 361: 362. The Legendary Hero of Ellander.

Bab 361: 362. The Legendary Hero of Ellander.

The scorching sun sent its golden rays through the gaps in the tall sycamore leaves, casting flickering patterns of light on the avenue in front of the temple.

Though it was midsummer, the temperature in Ellander, nestled against Mahakam, wasn't unbearably hot.

Instead, thanks to the lush sycamore branches and leaves, walking down the mountain road, accompanied by a gentle breeze, felt pleasantly comfortable.

After leaving the temple, Allen and Lysa walked in silence for a long time, as if they had suddenly become strangers.

But come to think of it, the time they had spent together overall might not even add up to a week.

"A month ago, when you left Ellander's city gates to return to Kaer Morhen, I thought I wouldn't see you again until at least next year."

Lysa tucked a strand of hair blown loose by the wind behind her ear. "That place is so far from Ellander—it's on the very edge of the map revised by the temple."

"I didn't expect to come back so soon either…"

Allen chuckled bitterly. His original plan after returning to Kaer Morhen had been to focus on improving the strength of the Witcher Corps.

Even if he took contracts to hunt monsters and earn battle points, they would mostly have been near the Kaer Morhen Fortress.

Who could have expected to encounter Vilgefortz using a Artefact compression spell right after descending the mountain? And to make matters worse, Lady Vera happened to be away at the time.

"A friend from the Wolf School got caught up in the war between Kaedwen and Aedirn and sent a plea for help. A lot happened afterward, and…" Allen shrugged. "Here we are."

"War…" Lysa, dressed in a white linen short-sleeve shirt, paused, her movements slightly stiff as she asked awkwardly, "Who won? I mean, between Kaedwen and Aedirn…"

"For now, Aedirn. When we left the southern border of Kaedwen, they had already lost nearly all their fortresses along the Pontar River," Allen recalled.

"I see…" Lysa murmured, her tone ambiguous, making it hard to discern her feelings.

Allen noticed her odd behavior and suddenly remembered her background.

Lysa's father had been a viscount of Kaedwen. According to what Vesemir had revealed back at the Orchard, Viscount Hudson had been a pure-blooded military noble.

The nation her late father had defended with his life was now ruled by the offspring of those responsible for her family's massacre...

Allen hesitated before awkwardly changing the subject. "How's life in the temple? Are you used to it after all this time?"

"Ah?" Lysa blinked and glanced at Allen before breaking into a smile. "It's been great. Mother Nenneke, Mother Ianna, and the other priestesses have been very kind to me."

"And I seem to have a knack for divine magic. I mastered basic healing spells in less than a week, while it usually takes other acolytes at least a month to learn."

"But Mother Nenneke and Mother Ianna usually don't let us use divine magic on the injured. They say combining it with herbal remedies is the best way to heal wounds..."

Talking about her life in the temple seemed to brighten Lysa considerably. She eagerly recounted her experiences from the past few months, leaving almost nothing out.

Her eyes sparkled with an indescribable light, making it clear to anyone that she genuinely loved her life as a priestess-in-training.

Listening to her, Allen felt as though he were experiencing her daily routine—learning divine spells, medicine, and theology under the rising and setting sun, carefully helping senior priestesses heal every wounded soul, and receiving their gratitude and blessings.

Even on their journey, they encountered many women—whether poor or wealthy—who greeted Lysa with respect in their voices.

This wasn't something unrelated to him.

He had rescued her from an abandoned mine and a deceitful vineyard, and now, she was living a good life and even had the strength to save others.

Allen turned to look at Lysa.

It was hard for him to associate this calm, serene, and respected young girl with the rebellious one who had once been determined to go to Kaer Morhen and become a Witcher for revenge.

The feelings welling up inside him were complicated and difficult to put into words.

As they talked, they strolled through the shaded walkway, where the traffic of people and carriages gradually became busier. Soon, they reached the boundary between the temple district and the city.

It was here that Allen's ears twitched, and he involuntarily slowed his steps.

"What's wrong?" Lysa asked curiously.

Allen, his expression complicated, turned to look at her. "I think I know why they wanted me to come here."

Lysa paused, then instinctively looked at the three-story red brick building ahead, which blocked her view. After a moment, she smiled. "I almost forgot—a Witcher's hearing is much sharper than ours."

They stopped talking, moving quietly as if afraid of disturbing something. They rounded the three-story red brick building.

The May Festival's sea of flowers was long gone, but the scene wasn't the wasteland of rubble it had been a month ago, either.

On both sides of a long stone-paved path were rows of scaffolding.

Workers were busy rebuilding and repairing the houses, with the owners helping from the sidelines.

For those whose homes were intact, simple white flowers adorned their doors and windowsills.

In the aftermath of disaster, humanity's tenacious vitality was like that of wild grass in the wilderness—no matter the sun, wind, fire, or rain, nothing could stop "humans" from growing with all their might.

The overflowing vitality was astounding.

But that wasn't what surprised Allen the most.

Five mischievous little children were chasing each other with wooden sticks. Three of them had white linen sheets draped over their heads.

"Smack!"

"Smack!"

The haphazard clashing of wooden sticks mixed with the sound of hammering nails.

"Don't run, you damned wraiths! Take this—the world's one and only Blue Death Knight of the May Festival, Ellander's heroic knight Allen, with his sword Elsa! Made of pure silver, it can vanquish you with a single strike!"

"Ah! Spare me, Blue Death… Ow, ow, ow! Noi, why are you hitting me for real?"

"Call me Lord Allen, the Blue Death!"

"No way! You've hit me so many times—I'm fighting back!"

"Ah! Ow—damn wraith, how dare you? I'm the Blue Death All—ow… David, Henselt, you two hit me so many times… Ow! Why are you still hitting?"

The world's one and only Blue Death Knight of the May Festival, Ellander's heroic knight Allen, stood with his twin swords on his back, dumbfounded at the scene.

Truth be told, with Lysa looking at him with an amused expression and the children's exaggerated lines ringing in his ears, Allen's first thought was to correct them.

Elsa was indeed a silver sword, but it wasn't made of pure silver—it was forged from several metals far more precious than silver.

Pure silver was too soft to be forged into a weapon.

Then, he suddenly laughed.

Who would have thought there would come a day when he, too, would become like those characters children pretended to be, their Elsa akin to some "legendary sword"?

"What does it feel like?" Lysa asked with a smile.

"Uh…" Allen thought for a moment. "Hard to describe… but it's… fascinating."

Lysa parted her lips slightly as if to ask another question.

Not far away, the children had already fought from one end of the street to the other, and a new argument was brewing.

"You've been the Blue Death all morning—it's our turn now!"

"In the afternoon, I'll… Ah… still fighting… The Black-Hatted Witcher Vesemir, the unparalleled Blue Death of May Festival, the knightly hero of Ellander, Allen, summons you. Come help your master defeat these wraiths!"

The child, called "Vesemir," actually started yelling "Aaaah!" while waving a wooden stick that was slightly less straight than the one in "Allen's" hand, joining the battle.

A soft chuckle came from nearby.

Allen shrugged helplessly. "Good thing Vesemir didn't come along…"

He could hardly imagine how awkward it would be if Vesemir were to see this scene.

But honestly, deep down, he was somewhat looking forward to it.

He really was a bad witcher!

Lysa stood beside him, watching Allen, who was focused on the children's antics. She stared for a long while until he seemed to notice her. When he turned his head, she suddenly said, "Let's go. I'll take you to the next place."

"Alright… Watch out!"

In a flash of movement, Allen reached out to stop the stumbling "Allen," who, while fleeing in panic from a group of "Wraiths," almost crashed into Lysa and was about to fall. Allen's left hand caught the wooden stick that was about to hit Lysa.

The tiny "wraiths" slowed down their pace, lowering their heads as they walked over, realizing they might have caused trouble.

"The real Allen wouldn't be this reckless."

Allen gently picked up the small "Allen" and set him down on the ground.

"Hmph! Thanks! But how do you know the real Allen isn't like me? You're not the Blue Death!" The small "Allen," now steady, still retorted defiantly. "Besides, the 'wraiths' were unfairly outnumbering me!"

"The real Allen wouldn't shirk responsibility!" Allen replied.

The little one patted his clothes, already thinking of how to explain the new stains on his clothes to his mother. Hearing the adults repeatedly mention Allen's name, he suddenly snapped:

"Why do you keep calling him Allen? Allen is you—"

Before he could finish his sentence.

He suddenly noticed the three "wraiths," draped in white sheets, were staring wide-eyed behind him, stepping back in a panic and muttering softly:

"Blue eyes… cat-like eyes… Is he… Is he…"

"But witchers always carry two swords on their back…"

In Ellander, there was no need to conceal himself. However, when leaving Aedirn in a rush and with no plans for hunting today, Allen hadn't switched to his usual attire. He still wore his mercenary outfit: a red leather jacket with a longsword at his waist.

As for his eyes…

Well, they weren't that noticeable unless you looked closely.

The small "Allen" abruptly turned, lifting his head to take a full look.

"Ah! The unparalleled Blue Death of May Festival, knightly hero of Ellander, Allen, has come to life!"

Real Allen: ?

When did I die?

"Is he really Allen?"

The "wraiths" froze, their sheet coverings slipping to the ground.

They had never met him in person, but Noy certainly had—at least several times, during the May Festival and at Ellander's funeral.

Otherwise, they wouldn't have chosen him to play "Allen" first.

"I am Allen, but not the unparalleled Blue Death of May Festival, knightly hero of Ellander," Allen said helplessly, waving a hand. "I don't have such a long list of titles."

"And, by the way, Vesemir is my mentor, not my pet."

It felt necessary to correct these ramblings from imaginative kids.

"Pfft!" Another soft laugh escaped from beside him.

The small "Allen" widened his dark, deer-like eyes and nervously gulped.

Then, for some reason, his gaze dropped, pausing for a moment on the straight wooden stick in Allen's hand before shifting to the silver sword at his waist. Taking a bold step closer, he asked, "You're not scary?"

Allen was surprised.

Even though these kids admired him, liked him, and played pretend as him, they had still backed away far when they saw his cat-like eyes and learned his name.

"Not scared!" the small "Allen" declared loudly. "My mom said that Allen the witcher is the hero who saved Ellander."

He then stepped even closer, his gaze glued to Allen's silver sword. "Is this sword Elsa?"

"She's so beautiful!"

Allen glanced down.

The silver sword, Elsa, had its entire blade sheathed, with its pommel, grip, and crossguard tightly wrapped in gray bandages.

It looked plain and dull.

"Can I… Can I touch her?" The child's large, shiny eyes pleaded pitifully at Allen.

Allen exchanged a look with the smiling Lysa and, with a sigh, nodded.

The small "Allen" widened his eyes in delight, carefully wiped his hands on his clothes, and then, with an expression of reverence, lightly touched the bandaged hilt of Elsa with his tiny hand.

He immediately pulled back, then screamed, "Ah! I touched Elsa!" "I touched Elsa!" while running back to his friends, waving his hand like a trophy.

The "Vesemir" and "wraiths" around him looked on in envy, itching to do the same but not daring to approach.

Allen chuckled softly, turning to Lysa with anticipation in his gaze. "Let's go. Where to next?"

"Follow me."

They visited many places next.

In the tavern, a bard played a lute, singing 'The Death Knight from the North':

"… He came from the north… He came from the north…"

"… The blue cat-like eyes opened, summoning the reaper…"

"… The fourteen-year-old knight of Ellander named his beloved silver sword Elsa…"

"… With this sword, he slew wraiths, drowned the fears of the living, and defeated the drowners…"

In the city square of Ellander, a talented florist had arranged flowers in the newly built large flowerbed, forming a vivid depiction of 'The Witcher with Blue Cat-Like Eyes'.

For the blue eyes, they used rare blue roses brought all the way from Toussaint and even further south to the distant Nazair.

From the lower town to the upper district, intricate wooden sculptures of a witcher carrying two swords could be seen at street corners and alleys. Groups of children, around the same age as the small "Allen," would often gather around these sculptures.

Some even carved his image onto wooden doors.

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

If Allen were truly just a fourteen-year-old witcher, knowing his likeness was so widespread might have been overwhelming.

Most of it stemmed from the Duke's recognition of him. Of course, that recognition carried significant political intent, using his image to bolster the citizens' morale.

Otherwise, he might have lost himself in this city that was saturated with his presence.

On the way back, at the corner of the red-brick building between the temple and the city districts, Lysa gently patted the floating, dreamy witcher and smiled.

"The hero who saved Ellander—your legend is everywhere in this city."

"So, have you reconsidered?"

"Will you choose to stay?"

.....

📢20 advanced chapters on p@treaon📢

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

363. Flying to Ban Ard?

364. The Smoke of Ban Ard.

365. The Wild Hunt – A Sorcerer's Coveted Treasure: A Legacy from an Old Friend.

366. While two dogs are fighting for a bone, a third runs away with it?

367. The Guiding Hand of Fate.


next chapter

Bab 362: 363. Flying to Ban Ard?

Gazing into Lysa's pleading dark eyes, for a brief moment, Allen almost thought he had already agreed.

Why not?

The political leaders admire you, the religious leaders favor you, and the entire city worships you as a hero out of an epic tale. All you need to do is your job—hunting monsters.

Why not?

Allen took a deep breath.

The scorching midday air filled his lungs, burning away any vanity.

"Sorry, Lysa."

"Why?" Lysa's smile turned strained as she asked urgently, "Everyone adores you. Why not choose to stay?"

"You know my background well, Allen."

"My father was a nobleman who deeply valued Kaedwen, his loyalty to the kingdom far surpassing his love for his wife and children. From the moment I was born, he fought for the king and Kaedwen—against the fierce Aedirnians, against the ruthless elves, even against his fellow countrymen turned bandits due to the king's heavy taxes..."

"Kaedwen's territory expanded quite a bit because of him, but during the nearly ten years after I was born, the time I spent with my father in total each year didn't exceed two months."

"My mother quarreled with him countless times about this. While other Kaedwen nobles and knights always found excuses to avoid conscription, he insisted that serving the king loyally was the duty of a noble and a knight."

"Every time the king issued an order, he would lead his troops to charge at the front. But he wasn't someone who enjoyed war. In his spare time, he delighted in painting and writing poetry..."

"Do you know? Every time my father held me, I could smell the blood that had seeped into his very soul."

"And in the end?"

"What was the result of being loyal to the kingdom?"

"Father died, mother died, Brother Erni, Brother Red, Elijah, Bard, Quinn… even Lady Leia and Mr. Noel—they all died."

"This is the fate of being loyal to Kaedwen!"

"Allen!"

"Kaedwen doesn't deserve you!"

Lysa's words spilled out rapidly, like a volley of arrows without pause.

Tears sparkled in her eyes, accumulating as her voice grew more anguished.

She must have been recalling the past.

Allen instinctively reached out a finger to wipe away the tears spilling from the young priestess's eyes. Only after completing the motion did he realize it was somewhat inappropriate.

However, the priestess only froze for a moment when his finger touched her alabaster-like skin, without any other reaction.

"I'm not loyal to Kaedwen," he said softly. "But I'm a Witcher, a Witcher of the Wolf School. Unless the school relocates, I cannot remain in Ellander indefinitely."

Lysa mistakenly thought the Wolf School would punish a Witcher for defecting. "But you have Vera. Even I can see she cares deeply for you, treating you like her own child. Mother Ianna and the old duke also like you a lot. If you're willing to stay here, how could the Wolf School dare to object?"

"I could even ask my aunt for help. Our family still has some acquaintances in Temeria..."

"It's not about that. The school doesn't care about such things," Allen shook his head, interrupting her. "But I'm a Witcher. My kind is in the Wolf School. That is my home."

Lysa opened her mouth, as though wanting to say something.

But after a long silence, she said not a word. Instead, she turned away, her steps slow as she walked past the three-story red-brick building toward the Melitele temple.

Allen hesitated, then followed slowly.

At noon, many were leaving the temple. However, only a few could recognize Allen beneath his mercenary garb.

The peaceful atmosphere here, so different from the city center, cooled the vanity stirring in his heart. His momentarily wavering resolve regained its firmness.

In this era, public opinion was easily manipulated, and fabricating truths for the common people came at almost no cost.

Though he was now elevated high by Ellander's adoration, Allen knew that if the nobles merely shifted their narrative slightly, the fervor would instantly cool. Indifference would follow, then hostility.

Was that really impossible?

It wasn't certain.

After all, just last night, the old duke had been complaining about his "good-for-nothing" son. And the old duke...

He was quite old.

This thought calmed Allen completely.

The lightly intoxicating warm wind rustled the old trees lining the road, casting golden shadows that paved the way forward.

Halfway there, the temple's benevolent and divine statue came into view.

"Last night..." Lysa suddenly spoke, though only two words.

"What about last night?" Allen turned his head.

The girl didn't look at him. Instead, her gaze was fixed on the shimmering patches of light on the ground.

"Last night, I lifted the curse—the Witchers turned into jade statues by a sorcerer's magic..."

"Green leather armor, green swords."

"They were tiny, less than half a meter tall, cold and rigid in my hands."

"Just like..."

The girl closed her eyes. "Just like lifeless objects."

Allen remained silent.

"They were all Witchers like you, professional monster hunters, yet just one spell rendered them utterly helpless, their lives frozen in that moment, unable to move ever again."

"At that moment, some terrible thoughts occurred to me..."

"If those jade statues were taken back by the sorcerer, what would happen?"

"Would they be tortured like prisoners, dissected like the rumors say, or silently perish like my father did..."

"What if..." The girl paused, turning her head to look at Allen.

Allen also looked at her, seeing fear in her trembling eyes.

"What if one of those jade statues were you?"

"That wouldn't happen to me," Allen said. "On the contrary, I'm the one who saved Erni and the others."

"Are you sure it wouldn't happen?"

"Absolutely sure!" Allen stared into the girl's eyes, his gaze resolute.

With his current strength, there might be individuals capable of defeating or killing him, but no one—not even a sorcerer—could turn him into a jade statue without resistance.

And this was just the beginning. Time was on his side. He would only grow stronger.

"That's good," the girl said, her gaze dropping to her plain shoes. "That's good."

Allen looked at her dejected expression, wanting to say something more.

But after some thought, he chose to remain silent, focusing instead on the road ahead as they walked.

In this quiet, the two returned to the temple.

"Going to the dining hall?" Allen asked beneath the sacred statue at the temple entrance.

"No," Lysa shook her head. "I need to go back first."

"Alright then. Thank you for guiding me this morning. I enjoyed it."

"I'm just glad I didn't spoil your mood," Lysa said with a bitter smile. "I don't even know why I said what I did earlier..."

"But even so, I still think there was one thing you said that wasn't right."

"What was it?" Allen asked, puzzled.

"Allen!" Lysa looked at him solemnly, her tone extremely serious. "Your kind isn't limited to the witchers at Kaer Morhen, Kaer Seren, Gors Velen, or Haern Caduch… those strongholds."

"You are human."

"The entire Northern Continent is filled with your kind. Vesemir is, Nenneke is, Mother Ianna is, Lady Vera is, and I… I am too."

"If Kaer Morhen can be your home, then surely there can be other places as well."

"Ellander, the Melitele Temple, so many people like you. I… we can all be your family."

"You still have a lot of time to spend in Ellander."

"Important decisions don't need to be made so early."

With that, Lysa didn't wait for Allen to respond, or perhaps she didn't dare to hear his answer, and fled into the temple as if escaping.

"I am human too…"

Allen stood in place for a moment, then smiled wryly and shook his head.

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

"Whoo~ Whoo~"

Panting heavily, Lysa ran back to her dormitory after parting with Allen at the temple gates.

It was a modest wooden house, much like the longhouse where several witchers were staying temporarily at the Melitele Temple. Inside, many children of similar status to Lysa lived.

But since it was mealtime, the longhouse was empty.

"Bang~"

Closing the door, Lysa leaned against it, placing her right hand on her heaving chest.

At this moment, her mind was entirely blank except for the sound of her wildly beating heart.

It was unclear how long passed.

Gradually, the noise of laughter and chatter drifted faintly from outside the door.

Only then did she snap out of her trance.

"Whoo~"

Taking a deep breath to calm her heartbeat, she opened her eyes.

Before her was a very simple room—a bed, a clothes rack, a desk, and a cabinet. All the furniture was plain and unadorned.

It was a far cry from the dim memories of her room as a viscount's daughter, filled with fine dolls and oil paintings.

Even compared to the house Sadia had conjured with illusions and magic in the abandoned mine, it was inferior.

Then again…

Perhaps because Sadia used magic, or due to some sense of compensation, her "room" in the abandoned mine was likely much better than the one in the castle. She remembered there were even many elven-style toys beside the bed.

Those were toys no viscount could afford, even if he was willing to give everything for his daughter.

"If he were truly willing to give everything, he should've stayed alive…"

The painful memories of the past attacked her again. Lysa murmured softly and sighed.

At that time…

Her father had the chance to escape with them, but he gave it up.

Was it because of the laughable knightly code? Or perhaps he still harbored some hope for Henselt? Or maybe, deep down, he was a coward who couldn't or wouldn't face the pursuit of the lord he had served so loyally?

She didn't know.

After her mother died in front of her, she had pondered this countless times but could never deduce an answer. And she probably never would.

After all, the dead don't speak. They never will.

Not entirely true, though. Necromancy was forbidden for sorcerers, but the Archpriestess could perform resurrection rituals.

But she didn't even know where his body lay…

Her thoughts wandered aimlessly as Lysa walked to the spotless wooden desk, opened a drawer, and took out a wooden carving.

It was a wooden figurine of a warrior carrying two swords.

If Allen were here, he would've recognized it as similar to the ones he had seen at the market square earlier that day.

The only difference was the base of this carving. Where the original inscription read "The Hero of Ellander—Master Witcher Allen" some words had been altered with a carving knife. The newer text was far more elegant, bearing a touch of Aen Seidhe grace.

Lysa gazed at it for a while. Her slender finger gently traced the figurine's face, and her habitual overthinking gradually faded.

Then, suddenly, she took out a carving knife from the drawer.

"Thud~ Thud~ Thud~"

Wood shavings fell as she worked.

When she stopped, the base of the carving now read, "Lysa's Hero—The Human Allen." The newer carving marks were noticeably fresher than the old ones.

"Not bad."

Lysa nodded in satisfaction, but after a moment, her mood sank again.

Sighing, she brushed the wood shavings off the desk and carefully placed the figurine on it. Crossing her hands over her chest, she began to pray:

"Praise be to the Mother of All, Goddess of Fertility, Harvest, and Birth, the Eternal Maiden, Mother, and Crone. I, your devotee Lysa, pray for your protection over the witch… no… the human… no… still the witcher Allen…"

"Praise be to the Mother of All, Goddess of Fertility, Harvest, and Birth…"

As her prayer continued, a faint sigh seemed to echo from somewhere, though no one knew where.

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

Meanwhile, on the other side of the temple…

The subject of the girl's prayers had no idea that while some people hung his image on doors, hoping to ward off evil spirits, others locked his likeness in a drawer, praying for divine protection over him.

Having just finished his lunch, Allen was pondering what to do that afternoon.

The official monster hunt arranged with the old duke was scheduled for tomorrow. Moving it up to the afternoon wouldn't be an issue for the duke, but mobilizing the hunting forces would take time. Vesemir was still training young witchers, and they needed to adapt to their reawakened bodies after the transformation and disenchantment rituals.

As for hunting alone, it wasn't impossible, but he lacked the enthusiasm for it.

Moreover…

As he walked toward the longhouse where the witchers were staying, an idea suddenly occurred to Allen.

"It's only been two days since Ban Ard was attacked by the Wild Hunt. Should I go take a look?"

The thought quickly took root.

After all, both the current state of Ban Ard Academy and intelligence on the Wild Hunt were of great importance to him.

These factors tied directly to his assessment of his two greatest enemies' strength.

Especially the Wild Hunt. The true power of the Aen Elle was a mystery to him, as the information from the game and the original story was unreliable.

After all, a group that could destroy cities with a few spells somehow failed to capture Ciri on horseback in the original tale. Moreover, during the defense of Kaer Morhen, they mostly fought with melee weapons, which seemed absurd.

If not for the Royal Griffin, the journey to and from Ban Ard would take nearly a month. That wouldn't be feasible.

But now…

The Royal Griffin had flown him from Vengerberg to Ellander in less than an hour. He had nearly an entire afternoon and evening—no, with the griffin's navigation, he essentially had half a day and the whole night.

Barring unforeseen circumstances, it was entirely possible!

.....

📢20 advanced chapters on p@treaon📢

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

364. The Smoke of Ban Ard.

365. The Wild Hunt – A Sorcerer's Coveted Treasure: A Legacy from an Old Friend.

366. While two dogs are fighting for a bone, a third runs away with it?

367. The Guiding Hand of Fate.

368. Hunting the Wild Hunt.


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