章 351: 352. The Royal Griffin!!!
"I heard it!"
Allen shouted excitedly in his mind, then leapt to his feet and mounted his horse.
"Made up your mind?" Vesemir, seeing Allen's resolute action, nodded in approval.
Knowing when to retreat is also a virtue of a witcher.
After all, they are just slightly stronger than ordinary humans. Not every monster can be dealt with.
"If you've decided, then let's leave quickly. The monsters driven off by the Royal Griffin's presence will soon return. If we leave now, there will be fewer troubles..."
"Wait!"
Vesemir tugged his reins and followed a few steps behind Allen before realizing something was amiss.
"We're going the wrong way! This isn't the direction back..."
The black horse raised its head, pointing toward the dense green trees, where the gaps revealed white, misty mountains beyond.
"We're not going the wrong way!"
Without looking back, Allen guided his horse eastward, following the faint cry echoing in his mind. He carefully maneuvered the horse around stones and sinkholes on the ground, shouting against the rushing wind: "We're continuing the hunt for the Royal Griffin!"
Hearing this, Vesemir paused, ready to say something.
Then he remembered Allen's earlier feats—summoning crows, squirrels, hares, and even a black snake with his spells. Vesemir opened his mouth, then closed it without saying a word, instead spurring his horse to follow.
---------------------------
"Wild Speech..." Allen focused on the faint call in his mind as he opened his Witcher Journal.
[Name: Wild Speech
Type: Beast Roar
Requirements: Initiation into the Path of Beast Roars, Mastery of "Beast Roar: Berserk"
Passive Effect: 1.Gradually enhances perception attributes through daily practice.
2. Reduces hostility from low-intelligence creatures.
Active Effect: Consumes energy, enabling the user to perceive the thoughts of low-intelligence creatures and convey simple commands.
Notes: "Are you sure the Way of Beast Roars isn't just the Druid's Path?" ]
"Druids, huh?" Allen's gaze immediately landed on the final note.
Witchers are aware of druids, who are as renowned as sorcerers. Druids are less a profession and more of a faith or sect.
They call themselves students of nature and the forest, communicating with plants and animals to understand the natural world. Druids wield powerful natural forces to maintain ecological balance.
Society often views druids as sages. To most people, druids serve as spiritual guides, herbal healers, and alchemists. Some druids even practice divination through animal entrails or cheese.
Additionally, there are "Vaedermakar" among druids—those who can manipulate weather.
"So that's it. 'Beast Roar: Berserk' is so powerful, there's no way 'Beast Roar: Wild Speech' could be so limited, only serving as a spell to communicate with monsters."
"The note was hinting all along—the real use of Wild Speech isn't as an advanced version of Axii but as a way to connect with nature like a druid..."
"The ability to communicate with low-intelligence creatures isn't just about talking to animals or monsters; it's about connecting with nature itself through plants and trees."
Recalling the ancient, gentle words that echoed in his mind, far more comforting than the image of Melitele's pregnant figure, Allen's excitement surged.
By a twist of fate, he seemed to have stumbled onto the druids' path of communion with nature!
The Path of Beast Roars didn't appear to be a single path but a combination of many different approaches.
What should he be called now?
A druid-witcher? A witcher-druid? Or maybe a nature-aligned witcher?
Wait!
It seemed like this wasn't even his only druidic path.
With his growing affinity for magic, a source akin to the energy of mages, and now mastery of beast roars and a connection to nature...
Wasn't he learning far too many things for a witcher?
However, if Wild Speech required communion with nature to practice, was he also training Beast Roar: Berserk incorrectly?
-----------------------------
The sound of horse hooves echoed as Allen pondered the path of Beast Roars, maintaining his pace without slowing down.
Every ten or so minutes, when the faint call in his mind would fade away...
Or when he encountered an impassable stream or cliff, forcing him to find another route...
Or when small monsters like drowners or minor beasts blocked his way, which he swiftly dispatched before resuming the hunt...
He would crouch down again, using Wild Speech to commune with the Mother of Nature. And then, nature itself and the mountains would guide his way.
As the distance closed, though the Royal Griffin's cry became less frequent, its deep, thunderous breathing grew louder and more distinct.
Roughly three hours after Allen first used Wild Speech, before the sky had darkened, the two witchers arrived at the Adrel Mountains.
At the foot of the mountain, a sparkling river wound through forests and rocky shores, extending southward across the tree line.
The altitude brought cooler temperatures, though the summer sun still burned brightly overhead.
-----------------------------
"Rumble~"
A deep, thunder-like sound echoed.
"It's up there!"
Allen stood up in his saddle, pointing diagonally toward the opposite side.
"Are you sure?" Vesemir dismounted and looked up.
The white cliffs were dotted with pines growing from the rocky surface. Just a couple of meters above them, clouds hung low, seemingly within reach.
But the direction Allen pointed was obscured by the mist, making it impossible to see clearly.
"Yes." Allen nodded lightly.
Meditating in different directions and using Wild Speech, he could clearly hear the Royal Griffin's snoring—like midday thunder—pointing unmistakably toward that location.
Vesemir had been right: the Royal Griffin had defied its natural instincts, building its nest on a cliff at least a hundred meters above the ground, likely in a mist-covered ledge or cave.
"And it's likely resting after hunting. Our timing is excellent."
After tying his horse to a tree, Allen gazed upward once more.
His expression was resolute, as if he could see through the clouds to the massive, blood-red beast lying on the stone, resting.
Vesemir followed Allen's gaze.
However...
He neither felt the imposing presence of a massive monster nor saw a blood-red beast. Nor did he hear the thunderous snore.
All he saw was a serene, pure white cloud drifting leisurely in the sky.
How does he do it?
Vesemir wanted to ask.
Despite having higher perception, how could Allen know not only where the Royal Griffin was but also that it was sleeping?
Their relationship was straightforward, so Vesemir asked directly.
"I heard it," Allen replied.
Vesemir nodded seriously, signaling his understanding.
In truth, he didn't understand at all. But whether it was an increase in strength, a new ability from the Witcher's Eyes, or yet another new spell Allen had invented...
Miracles that would astound others seemed ordinary when it came to Allen. Vesemir was used to it by now.
To be honest, he still found it hard to believe.
Allen managed to locate the Royal Griffin purely through his peculiar method—pausing occasionally to meditate for a while.
But what could one say?
As Allen had once remarked, this sentiment was fitting for the moment—
"Since we're already here."
-----------------------------
The steep cliff ahead was impossible for the horses to climb.
Vesemir tied the reins of his horse to an oak tree near Carrot.
This journey had been relatively uneventful, with only a few minor monster attacks and no annoying drowners near the river at the foot of the mountain. Leaving the horses here seemed reasonably safe for the time being.
"Perhaps this is another indication of why the Royal Griffin chose this location for its nest," Vesemir said to himself as he stood before the sheer cliff face.
The cliff was so steep that it was nearly vertical, making it an imposing challenge to ascend.
Neither of the witchers had brought professional climbing gear. Then again, as the mightiest warriors of the human world, Witcher Masters were the cream of the crop. Their tempered and trained bodies were the most reliable climbing tools in existence.
Moreover...
Life has a way of demonstrating its resilience in unexpected places.
As they climbed, they found that every ten meters or so, there were pine and cypress trees clinging stubbornly to the rocks. Growing in the thin seams of the cliff with barely any soil or nutrients, these trees were not only verdant but also strong enough to support the weight of two witchers at once.
Allen frequently took advantage of these robust branches to pause and meditate, determining the position and condition of the Royal Griffin.
Finally...
Vesemir suddenly stopped, hooking a single finger onto a rock outcrop, and turned to Allen with a look of surprise.
His expression said it all: "Hey! You really did find the Royal Griffin, kid!"
After climbing another dozen meters, Allen too could sense the overwhelming presence of the Royal Griffin.
"Whoooom—rumble~"
Its snores sounded like thunder gathering within the clouds overhead.
The two witchers exchanged a glance and silently continued climbing, careful not to make any noise, not that they were making much to begin with.
Without incident, they reached the edge of the Royal Griffin's nest.
The snores of the monster above were almost deafening, while the air was thick with the metallic stench of blood mixed with the rank odor of decay. It was almost tangible, like a heavy liquid running down the cliff face, washing over their bodies.
Dark red blood stains streaked the rock above them, trickling down the surface before drying in place.
For the last ten meters, the area was entirely coated with these crimson streaks, and the surface was so slippery it was almost treacherous.
The two witchers slowed their pace significantly. Using rags they carried, they wiped down their footholds while holding their breath and cautiously climbing.
What should have been a short ten-meter climb ended up taking longer than the rest of the ascent combined.
From the edge of the cliff, two pieces of dark red cloth peeked out and wiped at the rocky surface before retreating.
Moments later...
The witchers grabbed onto the cleaned footholds and peered into the nest.
The Royal Griffin had built its nest in a natural cliffside cave. The cave was large enough to let the mountain winds howl mournfully through it, yet small enough that the single Royal Griffin inside occupied two-thirds of the space.
"Whoooom—rumble~"
The whistling winds were punctuated by the sound of deep, thunderous breathing.
At first glance, the beast appeared as though it were a massive ball of black and red flames, burning quietly amid the pale, ghastly remains of its prey.
But upon closer inspection, it became evident that this was no fire—it was the griffin itself, its body hidden within its vast, sky-darkening wings as it rested.
The witchers exchanged a quick glance, made a series of silent hand signals confirming the area was safe, and climbed over the edge.
Instantly, they were hit by a suffocating wave of rot and blood, so intense it felt almost solid, accompanied by the oppressive aura of the monster's overwhelming presence.
Standing this close, the griffin appeared even larger than the one they had killed a few months ago.
Allen crouched low, scanning the cave.
The cave held only this single Royal Griffin, but it was clearly a fully grown adult.
Given its recent, relentless attacks on Vengerberg...
"There's no doubt about it," Allen whispered. "This must be the mate of the griffin we killed three or four months ago. Only a griffin's fierce loyalty to its partner could explain such violent behavior."
"The last one was male, which makes this one female..."
Crouched behind a half-height pile of rubble, Allen clutched the green Behemoth Snare tightly in his right hand, the rope tied securely around his waist.
His first "flying companion" was within reach. Its majestic form and even its breath stirred an uncontrollable excitement in him. Soon, this Royal Griffin would be his!
But then...
"Splish~"
A sudden sound came from beside him.
Vesemir had stepped into a pool of blood hidden under a layer of dust.
"Damn!" the Witcher Master cursed inwardly.
"...Boom!"
The Royal Griffin's snores abruptly ceased.
Its overwhelming presence grew even more intense, pressing down like a mountain.
"Scraaape—"
The wings unfolded, and claws harder than steel scraped against the rocky floor, creating sparks.
The eagle-like head, massive as a small hill, turned toward the cave, its piercing golden eyes scanning its surroundings with vigilance.
The blood-soaked, desolate cave chamber, the cool mountain winds, the pure white clouds drifting across the blue sky...
Everything seemed as it should.
"Caw~"
The griffin's head, adorned with glossy black feathers, tilted in confusion.
After a questioning cry, its wings folded back over its head. Before long, the cave echoed once again with its thunderous snores.
"Whew~"
From the cliff edge, a faint sigh of relief could be heard as the two witchers reappeared from behind the illusionary rubble.
Vesemir gave Allen a gentle pat on the shoulder, a hint of apology in his eyes.
While it was true that if one could take down one Royal Griffin, they could probably manage a second, Vesemir was worried that being discovered might jeopardize Allen's attempt to capture it.
Moreover, their current position was precarious. A single sweep of the griffin's wings could send them plummeting to their deaths.
And then there was the previous griffin hunt—thanks to Allen's Witcher's Eye, they had barely survived the dangerous encounter. Fighting in such a confined space was not a risk Vesemir wanted to take.
Allen shook his head, indicating he didn't mind.
The blood puddle had been well-hidden, covered with undisturbed dust. Even he might not have avoided it.
With that...
The two witchers moved forward silently, carefully avoiding similar "traps" as they advanced.
"Whoooom—rumble~"
The loose rocks on the ground seemed to tremble with the griffin's breathing.
The closer they got, the more its immense presence, combined with the aura of chaotic magic surrounding it, caused their hearts to pound uncontrollably.
"Thump~"
"Thump~"
Suppressing the frantic beating of their hearts, the two witchers reached the perfect spot to use the Behemoth Snare.
However, the lasso required them to secure the target's head, and the griffin's eagle-like face was still hidden beneath its powerful wings.
Allen and Vesemir exchanged another look, took a deep breath, and prepared themselves.
"Bang!"
A sudden noise echoed through the cave, and the snores ceased instantly.
"Screeeech—!"
The Royal Griffin let out a furious roar.
.....
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353. The Reason the Royal Griffin Stays High.
354. How Much Did Mason Offer? I'll Triple It!
355. The Truth Exposed?
356. The Purpose of Vilgfortz.
357. The Next Conjunction of spheres.
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