Chương 134: 134. My Little Boy Has Grown Up.
In the end, Allen wasn't as ruthless as he could have been. Although the Mountain Trial he modified became more controllable and the difficulty decreased, for the apprentices, the preparation days were shortened, and the trial's challenges became unfamiliar and unpredictable. The pressure was no less intense than when Allen had taken the trial.
Even he had needed a few days of rest after completing the Mountain Trial, so there was no point in putting others through the same hardship. So, the experiment with the "Corps Skill: Resonance" was postponed to the next day. However, the next day's attempts didn't yield promising results. In fact, there was no effect at all.
After a day of practicing six different signs, none of them produced any "resonance."
As for the Ice Spear Curse, none of the members had unlocked the skill yet since they were still learning it. Therefore, the experiment with "Resonance" had to be set aside for now.
With the descent from the mountain approaching, Allen no longer led the corps out of Kaer Morhen for hunts. He himself would leave the ancient sea fortress in the morning to visit the rock troll camp, offering some rotten meat and fostering relations with the three-member family of trolls.
In the afternoon, Allen would usually discuss the development of the Witcher Corps with the chief and Aristo, as well as the defenses of Kaer Morhen. These defenses would gradually be replaced once the witchers began descending from the mountain. The defenses included making common siege tools like battering rams and rolling stones, which would be handled by the members of the Wolfpack remaining in Kaer Morhen.
After privately informing the corps members about the future crisis of the school, they all accepted their tasks with serious faces and a strong sense of duty.
In the evenings, Allen would go to the alchemy room, not only to prepare some potions for the journey but also to inform his chief sorceress of everything discussed in the afternoon about the Witcher Corps.
While Mary would sometimes appear serious, sometimes confused, sometimes understanding, and sometimes showing expressions that even Allen couldn't decipher, he would offer his explanations, hoping to quickly synchronize Mary's thoughts with his own.
Vera would also offer additional insights and perspectives, and they agreed to set the next Trial of the Grasses for after Allen's return. Just like that, the time to descend from the mountain arrived.
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In the morning, the sun shone brightly—a perfect day to send someone off on a journey.
At the gates of the ancient sea fortress, a small crowd gathered, chatting and laughing together. Every now and then, some people would leave, others would return, but everyone had an unmistakable look of reluctance on their faces. This was the fate of witchers.
Gatherings were always brief, and farewells were the norm. The same faces might not be seen the following year, or perhaps there wouldn't even be a grave to visit. This year was the same as any other—except maybe it wasn't.
At least this year, every witcher about to embark on a journey carried an extra potion pouch at their waist. Inside, clinking and clattering, were three potions prepared according to their needs: Killer Whale, Cat, and Necrophage Oil.
Among these, Killer Whale was the most common, and many witchers' pouches were packed with it. After all, having an extra escape route often meant having an extra life. Waterways were found everywhere—in cities, villages, or even in the wild.
Many witchers, as they passed by the largest group of people outside the gate, would nod in gratitude toward a young figure. Even though there were those older, of higher status, or stronger among them, they all acknowledged him.
"Chief, are you sure it's wise to send Allen to participate in the competition without fully understanding the king's stance?"
Watching from afar as people kept nodding to Allen, Whitelock couldn't help but turn his head and ask. The chief glanced at Whitelock and replied matter-of-factly, "Whitelock, Allen is a witcher!"
Whitelock sighed upon hearing this and said no more. Allen is a witcher. Witchers must eventually descend the mountain to hunt monsters. It's not just about making a living; it's their mission and the reason for their existence. And witchers always die eventually. No one knows how long a witcher will live, for death always arrives sooner than old age.
Sooner or later, and for all of them.
In the faint red protective barrier, the sorceress gently reminded him, "Though the amulet of Melitele can temporarily shield you from the gaze of the dark gods, you mustn't forget to visit the churches of the true gods…"
"It's best if you go to Melitele's temple in Ellander. I've already written to High Priestess Ianna. As long as you bring the amulet, someone will guide you there."
"The timing might not be perfect…"
The sorceress had been giving him various instructions for at least an hour. It was nice to have someone care, but being fussed over like a child in front of everyone was a bit embarrassing.
"I understand, Lady Vera."
"I'll go to Melitele's temple in Ellander right after the apprentice combat tournament in Ban Ard."
Allen repeatedly assured her. Seeing that he was taking it seriously, Vera nodded in satisfaction. Then, with a snap of her fingers, she conjured a delicate little pouch that jingled with coins and tried to hand it to Allen. Seeing this, he hurriedly declined, glancing cautiously at the chief.
Using alchemy materials freely in the lab was one thing, but accepting money upfront…
That was really hard to do.
"What's wrong, Allen?"
Seeing his refusal, the sorceress was puzzled. She thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers again. A dark, simple, but equally expensive-looking men's coin pouch replaced the delicate one.
"No need, Lady Vera."
"I can earn money myself by taking on contracts."
Allen's face flushed red. He never expected to experience being "sponsored" by a rich lady in another world. But he was the Child of Miracle—how could money be an issue for him?
He was carrying an silver sword worth 17,325 Orens on his back!
Seeing Allen's resistant expression, the sorceress suddenly recalled a conversation among noble ladies at a banquet years ago and immediately understood.
"My little boy has grown up and developed some pride."
She no longer insisted and glanced at Mary, who had been waiting nearby for a long time. Another conversation from that banquet came to mind.
"Snap!"
With a snap of her fingers, the faint red soundproof barrier was lifted.
"Mary, come over here!"
"Allen has something to say to you!"
The sorceress's voice wasn't loud, but the surrounding witcher masters, all with keen senses, turned their heads. Their ears barely twitched, almost imperceptibly.
"Tap, tap, tap…"
Mary, wearing little brown boots and a red dress, walked over with a faint smile, dimples showing, and asked expectantly, "Allen, what do you want to say to me?"
...…
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135. Descending the Mountain.
136. Even if the Price is the Life of a Trainee.
137. The Cat School's Caravan.
138. First Arrival at Ban Ard.
139. Aen Saevherne.
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