Unduh Aplikasi
88.62% The Witcher: Wolf School's Hunting Notes / Chapter 374: 375. Another S-Rank Evaluation.

Bab 374: 375. Another S-Rank Evaluation.

After the witchers, it turns out that elves and sorcerers are monsters too?

Allen sighed at the irony as he traveled through the kaleidoscopic "Gap."

The "Gap," referring to the space between two portals, was terminology used by sorcerers. However, its origins might trace back to the era of the Aen Seidhe empire, as much of magic was passed down from the elven sages.

Witchers often speculated, sometimes with a hint of malice, about whether the elven sages who taught magic to humanity ever regretted their decision, seeing how their "good disciples" forced their descendants into hiding.

Then again, perhaps not.

Elven sages, said to understand the past and the future, might have foreseen some fragment of this eventuality in their crystal balls. For some reason, though, they allowed humanity to rise to its current dominance.

Was humanity simply too useful?

Were the ties between elves and humans so entangled they became inseparable?

Or perhaps, for reasons unknown, the sages deliberately withheld the truth?

Speaking of which, even the Wild Hunt—the Aen Elle—enjoyed employing humans. It's said they often raided the witcher world to abduct humans.

In the original tale, Ciri encountered hooded human slaves in the city of Tir ná Lia, the capital of the Alder Folk.

"Dh'oine," the name they gave humanity, seemed laden with condescension and disdain, as inferred from Ciri's rejection of it at the time.

Intelligent life, it seems, always seeks to live nobly at the expense of others.

Perhaps the relationship between humans and the Aen Seidhe began similarly.

But human nobles, obsessed with purity of bloodlines and their own lofty origins, were unwilling to acknowledge that their ancestors were once slaves—even if it meant bearing the label of ingratitude.

Lost in thought, Allen felt he had edged closer to the truth.

Though such musings were of little practical use to him now.

Well…

Perhaps not entirely useless. At the very least, the idle speculation kept his wandering mind from being drawn to the overwhelming, surreal sights of the Gap, helping him maintain clarity of thought.

This was crucial.

After all, portal magic—even among master-level spells—was of the highest tier. Only about thirty sorcerers across the Northern Realms could use it properly, a testament to its complexity and danger.

Allen had only managed to learn it thanks to the Witcher's Journal.

The infusion of memories and physical enhancements made the skill feel almost innate. Yet, even so, he could sense the Journal's power activating every time he used a portal. Thus, even without the "Eldritch Gaze" fixed upon him, the Gap remained perilous.

He needed to tread cautiously, ever vigilant.

This had never been an issue before. However, now—injured and weakened from blood loss—exhaustion weighed heavily on him. With the system's notification confirming his safety, the sheer weariness hit him all at once, his eyelids growing unbearably heavy.

To combat it, Allen forced himself to stay occupied, much like one might make small talk during a long night's watch.

Alas, there was no one else here, so he muttered to himself instead.

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

A piercing screech jolted him back to focus.

"CAW!"

It was a warning cry from a griffin.

Above him hung the red moon, casting its cold light over the rustling forest. Somehow, he had crossed through the portal.

"Am I… there?"

Allen stumbled and fell to the ground, barely managing to rise again.

"It's me, girl," he called, raising a leaden arm in the direction of the familiar aura nearby.

"CAW~"

The griffin responded warmly, swooping down with affection. Its hardened beak reached out, aiming to nuzzle him.

But even before the beak touched him, the wind from its powerful wings sent him tumbling like a ragdoll.

"Easy, girl. Don't mess around…"

Allen groaned, trying to steady himself. Just as he was about to stand, he suddenly felt weightless.

The griffin carefully gripped him in its beak and gently placed him on its broad back.

"Rustle~"

The beast's thick, bristly mane enveloped him, its wild scent tinged with iron filling his senses—a strange but reassuring comfort.

"Good girl," Allen murmured weakly.

"Caw?"

"Take me to the Temple of Mellitele."

"CAW!"

The griffin cried out and spread its wings. With a powerful beat, the grass below flattened, and the trees swayed violently.

Feeling weaker than ever, Allen turned his head slightly, peering through gaps in the griffin's mane. In the distance, two pillars of smoke—one large, one small—rose into the dark northern sky.

Just then, the system finished calculating his rewards.

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

[Ding! Target defeated: Monster group "Aen Elle" LV93, "Sorcerer" LV73.]

[Rewards calculated: Basic rating: D; Over-level kill: +3—C; Decapitation intimidation: +3—B; Wolf Among Sheep: +3—A; Against All Odds: +3—S.]

[Final rating: S (Reward multiplier: x3)]

[Loot acquired: Eternal Ones' Memory Crystals x6, Sorcerer Memories x30, Experience Orbs x45, Aen Elle Treasure Chests x18, Sorcerer Treasure Chests x18.]

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

S-rank!

A jolt of exhilaration surged through Allen, momentarily dispelling his exhaustion and numbing his pain.

Since gaining the Witcher's Journal, he had completed countless hunts, but this was only the fourth time he'd achieved an S-rank evaluation.

Not only had his meager stock of experience orbs been replenished, but the treasure chests—36 in total—were the real prize.

Thirty-six chests!

And from enemies as formidable as Aen Elle and sorcerers, no less.

This alone could let him shamelessly request another Harvest Blessing from the goddess Melitele.

What's more, the six "Eternal Ones' Memory Crystals"...

He refused to believe they wouldn't hold some clue about the White Frost.

The fact that these weren't labeled as Aen Elle memories but as "Eternal Ones' Crystals" hinted at additional value.

Perhaps beyond knowledge and skill, they might provide unexpected benefits. But all that would have to wait until he returned to the Temple of Melitele and fully recovered.

Wait…

He'd also need to figure out how to learn Elder Speech.

If he couldn't understand the Eternal Ones' language, using their memories would be a waste.

"Hopefully, those thirty sorcerer memories include Elder Speech," Allen thought wryly.

The White Frost—a mystery that had haunted him for so long—might finally begin to unravel.

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

"Caw?"

Sensing his emotions, the griffin tilted her head and let out a soft cry. The motion caused a gap in her mane, letting icy wind whistle through and snap Allen's overheated mind back to focus.

Exhaustion overtook him once more, even heavier than before. His mind grew foggy as he instinctively clung to her mane.

"It's fine, girl. Keep flying."

He reassured the griffin mentally before surrendering to the fatigue, his eyes closing.

Before unconsciousness claimed him, two thoughts crossed his mind: "Ten sorcerers dead… Does this mean Ban Ard's mages are reduced to just two?"

And…

"I… won't fall from this height, will I?"

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

The world spun as the witcher, high above in the freezing night air, succumbed to the darkness.

"Caw?"

"CAW—"

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

In the northern forests of Burned Ruins of Ban Ard, i

"How could there be nothing left?"

"Lord Miguel…"

"How is it possible that nothing remains?"

"Miguel!"

A man, tattered and scorched, kneeling in the dirt, his body covered in burns, suddenly lifted his head from the blackened soil. Desperate, he clung to the robes of another sorcerer standing nearby as if clutching a lifeline.

"Vilgefortz, they were here! Why is nothing left? Why?"

Vilgefortz, though in slightly better shape, was no less disheveled. He glanced down at his torn and charred star-embroidered robe, frowning almost imperceptibly. Taking a deep breath, he looked at Miguel, whose twisted features and bloodshot eyes were filled with despair, and spoke softly:

"This was the epicenter of the explosion. The heat was greater than a dwarven forge. Nothing could have survived—"

Miguel interrupted, veins bulging on his forehead, his fist clenched tightly.

"You mean to say that I led eleven men here, lost ten of them—three senior mages, the backbone of seven factions—and I can't even bring back a shred of explanation?!"

Vilgefortz remained silent, his expression impassive as he watched Miguel.

"Huff—huff—huff—"

Miguel's breathing was labored, like a wounded beast.

It took a moment before he realized his outburst, his fiery glare at Vilgefortz gradually softening.

He looked around in a daze.

But all he could see was the barren wasteland, the remains of devastation.

"My god… What have I done?"

"How can I report this to Sunny? How can I face Dean Hen Gedymdeith, Vilgefortz?"

Miguel's spirit seemed to collapse entirely. With a thud, he fell to the ground, defeated.

Vilgefortz offered no reply.

Not because he lacked answers, but because Miguel wasn't looking for one. The answer was already clear to him.

The man before him, as if having lost everything, was merely venting. Nothing more.

"Quinn might not be dead," Vilgefortz said suddenly.

"No," Miguel muttered without lifting his head, "Quinn wouldn't run from a fight."

"Perhaps he's merely unconscious?"

Miguel shook his head but didn't elaborate further.

For Vilgefortz, time seemed to crawl unbearably.

He didn't care about the fate of these radicals. He didn't even care about the survival of Ban Ard.

But Ban Ard Academy was crucial to his plans. These people, indispensable.

Even as his focus shifted to new strategies, and even as Ban Ard seemed to be abandoned by fate itself, spiraling into decline after calamity upon calamity…

Three senior council members. Seven mid-level.

Perhaps half the radical faction's entire strength…

No! After Ban Ard's recent losses in the Sacking of the City, it was undoubtedly more than half.

Still…

As long as Hen Gedymdeith lived, Ban Ard would remain the heart of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers.

The radicals' ideology aligned with the prevailing currents within the academy. No matter the losses this time, they would soon recover.

After all…

Who among the sword-wielders would willingly bow as dogs to mortal nobles, enduring their commands? And as for the so-called divine nobility of their bloodlines…

Who would know better than the mages themselves?

This was the tide of destiny!

Thus, even as the radicals seemed at their lowest point, Vilgefortz saw opportunity.

As for the looming threat of the Wild Hunt

"Chaos is a ladder."

Such thoughts churned through Vilgefortz's mind.

He looked down at Miguel.

As Sunny's close friend and confidant, Miguel, no matter how great his blunders, would eventually regain his status as the heart of the radicals once the storm passed.

And truly, was this defeat even his fault?

"Perhaps…" Vilgefortz began, feigning hesitation.

"What?"

"Perhaps there is still a way to find something worthwhile."

"What!" Miguel jumped to his feet before Vilgefortz could finish, his bloodshot eyes brimming with hope as though he'd found a lifeline.

"If the Hunt risked everything to steal something from the academy, it likely hasn't truly been destroyed in the explosion."

Miguel frowned. "You mean?"

Vilgefortz raised his hand, gesturing behind Miguel.

"I don't believe that Eredin, that so-called lord of the Wild Hunt, retreated to the woods just to wait and die with us."

"Yes!" Miguel's throat tightened as his eyes sparkled with sudden clarity. He muttered to himself, "Complete your task, coward. He had a task… He had a task…"

Miguel began pacing back and forth, his hands gesticulating wildly in excitement.

"It might not be there," Vilgefortz cautioned, tempering Miguel's growing fervor. "But… we can try. What do you think, Lord Miguel?"

"I understand." Miguel took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Thank you, Vilgefortz."

"It's my duty." Vilgefortz smiled faintly and began chanting. With a swing of his metallic staff, a glowing orb of light appeared.

Although the Hunt had incinerated itself in the fiery blaze, obliterating all evidence…

Its traces were etched across this desolate wasteland.

The Ithlinne's Star Phantoms swiftly gathered the residual energy it needed, floating towards the shadowy depths of the forest.

Out of caution—or lingering fear—the two sorcerers fortified themselves with their strongest defensive spells before proceeding. Step by step, they advanced cautiously.

After half an hour, the trail led them to a birch tree.

"An exquisite spell!"

"That creature surely wove illusions here, but even so, it couldn't escape your miraculous magic!"

"Finally, we have something to report to Sunny."

Miguel, staring at the glowing illusion, solemnly promised Vilgefortz:

"At the year's end council, we will support your bid for the high council seat… not just wholeheartedly. I'll leverage my own connections as well. Even though we belong to different factions, we both have friends within the academy…"

Vilgefortz offered measured words of gratitude, his gaze returning to the spectral image of the Hunt.

They watched as the specter buried a stone in the ground.

Miguel's eyes gleamed. The moment the illusion faded, he knelt down, ready to dig out the stone.

However…

Just as his hand touched the soil, he froze.

"What's wrong?" Vilgefortz asked.

"This place… It's been disturbed already…"

.....

📢20 advanced chapters on p@treaon📢

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

376. Absurd.

377. Ban Ard Is No Longer a Threat.

378. Could It Be He's Not the Child of Prophecy?

379. Spiral! The Witcher Who Commands Time and Space!

380. Source LV1.


next chapter

Bab 375: 376. Absurd.

"My memory is excellent. The soil here differs from the other affected by the spells," Miguel said as he continued to plunge his hands into the dark, damp earth.

There are many spells capable of manipulating soil, and even with just raw mental power, they could still be performed with great precision at their level. However, Miguel seemed worried that the magical fluctuations might cause some object to slip away. It also seemed that if he used the powers befitting his identity as a wizard, his suspicions would be confirmed.

Thus, he carefully dug with his bare hands, like an ordinary farmer, gently and meticulously turning the soil.

Moist soil, rotting insect carcasses, and even live earthworms poking their heads out, twisting and writhing—yet there was no sign of the thing they were searching for.

"Squish~"

An earthworm was crushed with a flick of the finger, its dark red flesh bursting out.

He continued digging.

Vilgefortz wanted to help, but Miguel refused, leaving him to watch in silence.

Miguel's fingers were scratched by sharp rocks, the blood slowly seeping into the earth as he dug a hole about half a meter deep and a meter wide, before stopping. Calmly, he summoned various ritual materials.

Water divination, fire divination, internal organ divination...

Complicated divination methods, but none of them yielded any results.

In the water divination, all they saw were their own faces. The internal organ divination only showed a blurred mass of meaningless flesh and blood. As for the fire divination... had Vilgefortz not been paying attention, the flames would have nearly burned Miguel's already ragged robe.

In the silence, a cold, biting despair slowly began to consume them.

Then, Miguel turned to Vilgefortz with an exhausted, drained look.

Vilgefortz said nothing. Instead, he nodded solemnly, then waved his staff.

The Ithlinne's Star Phantoms once again wove a hazy white illusion.

The Wild Hunt had come, buried black stones, and then left.

In an instant, the illusion shifted, as if the moment in the middle had been stolen.

Miguel didn't ask Vilgefortz why the illusion had suddenly changed.

The fact that none of the divinations had yielded results was a result in itself.

"There must have been someone who came before us," Miguel said, staring at the illusion, hoping to spot a figure, "They're special. Fate itself tries to hide them... And it's not just that they dug up the treasure before us..."

He raised his head, as if recalling something...

[...Dh'oine... you actually managed to kill her... how dare you kill her...]

"There had been signs," Miguel sighed, his mood visibly lifting, "Our teammates at Ban Ard, never would have thought we would be manipulated and lose so much..."

"Miguel, do you think someone came before us, killed another Wild Hunt member, and framed us for it?" Vilgefortz asked calmly.

Miguel nodded.

They stood in silence, staring at the half-covered pit.

Suddenly, Miguel pointed at the illusion over the pit and turned to Vilgefortz: "Have you ever encountered something like this before?"

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

"Screech—"

Good girl, let me sleep a bit longer...

"Screech!"

Such an aggressive call...

No, a good girl wouldn't call me like that. Who is she threatening? Who is she warning?

His body was falling, drifting.

"Allen!"

It was Vesemir. His tone was much more urgent than usual.

So... Vesemir is facing off with the Griffin... Why?

"Screech!"

"The... the Griffin," Vesemir's voice trembled with fear, though he was also trying to soothe the creature, "Where is Allen? Didn't he return with you?"

"Vesemir..." The voice came from the right. Allen tried to lift his right hand to wave, but he couldn't feel his body.

His soul seemed to be drifting away from his body.

But thankfully, Vesemir must have heard something.

"Allen! Allen! Are you there? What happened?" he shouted, his voice rapidly approaching.

"Screech!"

The Griffin was warning.

"Whoosh—thud—"

The sound of something heavy striking a tree followed by the Master Witcher's painful cry.

"Good... good girl..." After the cry, Vesemir was still trying to approach.

"Screech! Screech!"

The Griffin's calls grew more irritable, increasingly aggressive.

Allen suddenly realized what he needed to do.

[Good girl...]

He reassured in his mind.

[Vesemir is a friend.]

"Screech?"

[Yes, his name is Vesemir. He is trustworthy.]

"Screech~"

The frantic beating of the wings stopped.

"Good... good girl?" Vesemir spoke cautiously.

Allen suddenly felt his body lighten and fall into a cold embrace.

It wasn't just cold, it was uncomfortable—sharp steel studs on the wrists, leather pouches on the chest, and the nails of the shoulder and chest armor pressing against him.

This was the typical outfit of a Wolf School Witcher.

But Allen never knew that a Witcher's embrace would feel so uncomfortable, so unsuitable for holding someone close.

Perhaps Witchers were never meant to have close, affectionate connections. They were just killing machines, hunters of monsters, always roaming the wilds...

"Hiss~"

Allen winced in pain.

Vesemir's steel studs on his left arm pressed against his lower back, aggravating his wound with a sharp pain that felt like electricity shooting through him.

Cold sweat poured down his face.

"What happened, Allen?!!"

The Witcher Master's voice was sharp with panic.

Allen wanted to speak, but he was too weak to say anything.

[I'm back.]

At that moment, he realized he must have returned to the Melitele temple... No, it was the hillside behind Mahakam, outside the temple...

But why was Vesemir here?

Before he could think further, he faintly sensed that someone was carrying him swiftly, and the rushing wind through the trees brought with it the familiar scent of the temple, calming his spirit.

Gradually, a warm current seemed to flow through his body, making Allen feel comforted and drowsy.

"Allen!"

Strong hands shook him vigorously, and footsteps thundered closer. The blurred voices sounded like waterfalls crashing down.

He grumbled in annoyance.

"Allen! Wake up!!" Rough hands lightly slapped his face, "Wake up! Can you hear me?"

The voices were all mixed together, chaotic.

Allen suddenly realized that the uncomfortable embrace had changed to a hard, smooth treatment table, but it wasn't cold. Instead, it was comfortably warm.

"Melitele above! What happened? I saw him just fine this morning, walking with Lysa on a date..."

"Yeah! He ate three baskets of bread at lunch, and scared the pregnant women in the dining hall."

"Speaking of dates, where's Lysa? She..."

Before they could finish, urgent footsteps echoed.

"Ah!"

A terrified scream followed by more hurried footsteps.

Then, Allen was suddenly placed into a soft embrace.

The fresh scent of eucalyptus surrounded him. It was the scent of a healing balm from the Melitele temple.

"Allen! Allen! Are you okay?" The young priestess called out, grabbing his hand.

Immediately, a warmth similar to the one from earlier surged through him, making him feel better.

He felt his strength returning, and was about to comfort Lysa.

"Stop panicking like this, or he'll be in danger..." The voice of Ianna, the Archpriestess, came from outside.

"Archpriestess..."

"Archpriestess..."

The others inside greeted her.

"Melitele above!" Ianna's voice was sharp, "You Wolf School Witchers really have some nerve! Just half a day gone, and look at him!"

"He's just a fourteen-year-old boy! Doesn't the Wolf School have anyone else?"

"It's my fault, Archpriestess Ianna," Vesemir's voice was full of self-reproach.

"Ha~"

Allen tried to speak up to defend the Witcher Master, but all that came out were weak coughs.

"Allen!!!"

The repeated cries came.

"Alright, enough! I know this isn't Vesemir's fault! You should rest now!" Ianna lightly tapped Allen's leg, making him wince in pain.

"The Archpriestess is here, he'll be fine."

This was the voice of Nenneke, with Lysa softly sobbing in the background.

"Shh~"

The mysterious energy from the journey and the warmth Lysa had passed to him made Allen feel much more in control of his body.

He could feel Vesemir carefully removing his armor.

At one point, a sudden chill swept through him.

"Hiss~"

The sound of people sharply inhaling echoed around him.

Whispers filled the room.

"Wow! Allen, the knight from Ellander, has quite the physique!"

"Stop thinking like that! He's Lysa's man!"

"No wonder he's a Wolf School Witcher—such clear muscle definition and a well-proportioned frame... Lysa is lucky."

"Yeah! Yeah!"

"Quiet!" At this moment, it seemed that Ianna realized there were too many people in the treatment room. "Everyone who is not involved, leave... not you, Lysa... you stay."

"Although I won't allow you to assist in the healing, you should still learn properly..."

Ianna paused for a moment, her tone meaningful. "In the future, you might have to deal with this kind of injury quite often."

"That's right~"

"That's right~"

"Learn well, Lysa!"

Some voices, still leaving, teased her.

"Ianna, elder~" Lysa grumbled in dissatisfaction.

But she stopped crying.

Since the Archpriestess still had time to joke, Allen's injuries must not be too severe.

"Minor burns... scrapes... these definitely wouldn't make a Witcher's body so weak..."

Cold hands moved down from his neck and along his back muscles, making him involuntarily shiver. Then a familiar energy seeped into the places where the hands had touched.

"Muscle fascia ruptures... internal bleeding... Merciful Melitele... such severe injuries, with the Witcher's body, he must have fallen from a height of over a hundred meters... yet his bones have only minor fractures..."

"Strange! Strange!"

Ianna was baffled, pausing for a second.

"Archpriestess, is Allen in serious condition?" Vesemir asked, his voice filled with concern.

"Shouldn't be too serious, mostly shock caused by excessive blood loss..." Ianna's voice faltered slightly, as if she too was confused. "Forget it... Nenneke... bring me the number four scalpel... we need to clear the blood clots first..."

"Lysa, prepare the divine magic: Healing Light..."

"Okay, Archpriestess..." Hearing that Allen's injuries weren't too serious, the young priestess let out a sigh of relief. "But didn't you teach us before, if we can avoid using divine magic and let the wounds heal naturally, we should?"

"Healing Light, seems..."

"For regular people, it's fine." The metallic sound of metal clashing rang as Ianna took a knife heated in the flames. "Divine magic forces the target's vitality to be drained, in other words, shortening their lifespan, but Witchers..."

Ianna paused, then continued: "Witchers, due to their mutations, not only have vitality many times stronger than ordinary people, but also, thanks to their mutated organs, they respond exceptionally well to healing magic..."

The Archpriestess seemed very familiar with the anatomy of Witchers.

It made the people present feel uneasy, as though she had personally dissected several Witchers, and even more unsettling was the thought that some living ones might still be hidden in the temple's deep underground rooms.

They exchanged glances and fell into an uncomfortable silence.

"What are you all thinking?" Without turning around, Ianna could already sense the odd atmosphere behind her. "This is Vera's record..."

Perhaps sensing it wasn't enough, she added, "And it was given to me with Sol's approval. By the way, the improvement of the Grass Trial's brew also has my contribution."

"I see..."

Everyone let out a sigh of relief, then looked at Vesemir with a strange expression.

They might not have known about such matters, which was understandable, but how could a Witcher Grandmaster, who had been at it for decades, not know?

"I asked Vera and Sol to keep it a secret," Ianna sighed, answering for Vesemir.

"What's the point of improving the brew? The Grass Trial still kills people... many people will keep dying... many children..."

Nenneke and Lysa fell silent.

At this point, it seemed inappropriate to say anything.

Vesemir glanced at Allen, his mouth opening and closing, but he didn't say the news about the Wolf School's trial mortality rate.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Ianna, Nenneke, or Lysa, but in this room, or even on the Northern Continent, there was only one person qualified to disclose such information to the public.

Of course!

That person wasn't him, but it was still closely related to him.

Allen was his own apprentice!

The Witcher Grandmaster thought to himself.

The treatment room remained in a strange silence for a long while.

Until Ianna suddenly stopped her movements, hesitating, and turned around, breaking the quiet of the room.

"Nenneke... did you... grab the wrong scalpel?"

.....

📢20 advanced chapters on p@treaon📢

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

377. Ban Ard Is No Longer a Threat.

378. Could It Be He's Not the Child of Prophecy?

379. Spiral! The Witcher Who Commands Time and Space!

380. Source LV1.

381. Allen, What Are You So Anxious About?


Load failed, please RETRY

Status Power Mingguan

Membuka kunci kumpulan bab

Indeks

Opsi Tampilan

Latar Belakang

Font

Ukuran

Komentar pada bab

Tulis ulasan Status Membaca: C374
Gagal mengirim. Silakan coba lagi
  • Kualitas penulisan
  • Stabilitas Pembaruan
  • Pengembangan Cerita
  • Desain Karakter
  • Latar Belakang Dunia

Skor total 0.0

Ulasan berhasil diposting! Baca ulasan lebih lanjut
Pilih Power Stone
Rank 200+ Peringkat Power
Stone 17 Batu Daya
Laporkan konten yang tidak pantas
Tip kesalahan

Laporkan penyalahgunaan

Komentar paragraf

Masuk

tip Komentar Paragraf

Fitur komentar paragraf sekarang ada di Web! Arahkan kursor ke atas paragraf apa pun dan klik ikon untuk menambahkan komentar Anda.

Selain itu, Anda selalu dapat menonaktifkannya atau mengaktifkannya di Pengaturan.

MENGERTI