章節 303: 304. My Apprentice Can Trick Me a Second Time?
The apprentices were speaking in hushed tones, but Allen, Vesemir, and Aristo were all master witchers, each with a sensory attribute of no less than fifty. They could pinpoint a single insect in the sky, let alone hear the apprentices' conversations.
Upon hearing, Allen didn't react, but Aristo's eyebrow twitched.
Who was stronger, him or Allen?
Truth be told, he was curious too.
Within the School, there were examples of veteran witchers whose strength couldn't match that of talented newcomers—and there were many such cases.
But in those examples, the newcomers weren't exactly young.
They certainly hadn't surpassed a witcher master within half a year of completing the Trial of Grasses. Moreover, Aristo had a fair sense of Allen's capabilities.
His own promotion to witcher master involved some clever tactics—one could even say there was a bit of luck involved. After all, if not for the sudden appearance of the Frost King, Allen wouldn't have been able to defeat the Old Speartip.
That said, it was still an impressive feat.
At least Aristo admitted that he, at thirteen, would never have had the courage or the ability to pull that off. Especially considering that by then, Allen had already ingeniously created practical magic tools and potions like the Drowner Whistle and the Killer Whale.
So when Allen was promoted to witcher master, Aristo was fully convinced.
Otherwise, he wouldn't have agreed to serve as deputy commander in that witcher corps led by a kid.
However, admiration aside, as Vesemir recounted Allen's feats, Aristo felt a slight sense of dissonance.
A archgriffin, a wraith, and even the Wild Hunt…
Could Allen, a witcher only half a year past the Mountain Trials, truly handle these creatures?
Even for Aristo, tackling a archgriffin would be a challenge—especially if unprepared.
Even if Allen was assisted by Vesemir and Mary, it still said something.
Not to mention he faced hundreds of wraiths and allegedly even hunted down a massive creature stronger than a cyclops. Were it not for his familiarity with Vesemir, and the fact that the noble house of Ellander had knighted Allen for his feats, Aristo would've thought Vesemir was lying.
Thus, Aristo was indeed curious about Allen's true strength—how many rounds could he last against him?
Of course.
There was another reason.
He'd spent the past half-year training kids and hadn't had an evenly matched fight in a long time.
He knew the skillsets of Vesemir and the other witcher masters at Kaer Morhen inside and out. Even with signs, their moves could no longer surprise him. But hearing Vesemir's tales of Allen's prowess made him eager to fight.
Yet…
"If I make the offer, it'd feel like bullying the younger generation," Aristo hesitated. "And if it ends up looking bad, it wouldn't be good for the witcher corps' image..."
Though he'd always had a bit of a fiery temper, he wasn't one to just draw his sword and start swinging. And at his age, he knew how to weigh the pros and cons.
"Maybe I should just let it go…" he thought.
Just then, Vesemir's encouraging voice broke through: "Allen, do you want to spar with Aristo?"
Immediately.
The entire hall fell silent.
The apprentices turned their eager gazes to Allen, who was delicately sipping a thirty-year-old Eastern Reserve, hoping he'd accept the challenge.
Aristo, meanwhile, turned sharply, staring incredulously at Vesemir, whose face was flushed from the drink.
What kind of master sets a trap for his apprentice like this?
For Allen, sparring with him would have no advantage, whether he took it seriously or not. Losing would only bring trouble.
As for winning...
He was older than Vesemir and one of the strongest witcher masters. How could he possibly lose?
"Vesemir, you're drunk!" Aristo's voice broke the silence of the hall.
"Are you afraid?" Vesemir replied with a sidelong glance, then turned to Allen, repeating, "Well, Allen?"
Aristo frowned, remaining silent.
He couldn't understand why Vesemir, who had just been praising Allen, would now dig such a deep hole for his apprentice.
Did he really think Allen could beat him?
At that thought, a strange anger welled up in him. He shot Vesemir a glare, fighting the urge to punch him because the apprentices were around. Aristo turned to Allen, who'd set down his cup, his youthful face filled with the burning intensity of a witcher master's fighting spirit.
"If I'm honored enough to spar with Master Aristo..." he said softly, "I'd be thrilled!"
"Whoosh—"
The moment those words fell, the hall seemed to erupt in a fervor.
The apprentices burst into excited chatter, their eyes fervent as they looked at their commander—or perhaps their future commander—with anticipation.
"Hahaha!" Vesemir let out a hearty laugh, downing the rest of his drink in one gulp.
"Well, Aristo, are you afraid?" Vesemir shouted loudly.
Bang!
The wooden cup hit the oak table with a thud.
Red wine splashed from the cup, filling the air with its rich, intoxicating aroma.
"Me, afraid?" A vein pulsed on Aristo's forehead. "I was hunting royal wyverns and becoming a witcher master while you were still wetting the bed! And you dare to say I'm afraid?"
Vesemir's face turned slightly embarrassed.
Not because Aristo's words were too harsh, but because they were true. To be more precise, Aristo had even seen the map of the Northern Continent Vesemir once drew on his bedsheets...
Longevity had its downsides.
No matter how old you got, someone would remember your younger years' embarrassing moments. And sometimes, they'd deal a blow at the most inopportune moments.
Feigning indifference, Vesemir glanced around, his gaze lingering a little longer on Allen's face as he exhaled in relief.
Luckily.
Aristo, though infuriated, still retained his rationality and didn't delve into specifics. Allen and the apprentices likely thought it was just a hasty insult without taking it seriously.
Embarrassed, Vesemir forced a laugh and lowered his head, pretending to savor his drink.
His goal was achieved, after all.
"Hmph~" Seeing Vesemir lower his head, Aristo snorted and then looked at Allen with more restraint.
"Seeking guidance…" he thought the excuse wasn't bad, allowing them both some leeway.
"A clever child," Aristo thought, meeting Allen's determined gaze. "And just as combative as I was in my youth..."
With this thought, Aristo couldn't help but glare at Vesemir fiercely, making him shrink back slightly in silence and lower his head even further.
Such a student was clearly meant for him to teach!
Was someone like Vesemir, who still wet the bed at the age of seven or eight, really qualified to have such a promising apprentice?
"Then let's have a good fight!"
As soon as Aristo spoke, the apprentices erupted with excitement, leaping from their seats.
"Don't throw bread in the air!" Aristo shouted, trying to keep order. "Anyone who wastes even a drop of stew will polish every steel sword in Kaer Morhen until they shine!"
At the vice commander's roar, the apprentices settled back into their seats, eating bread and stew. Yet even as the scolding died down, they didn't quiet completely, their eyes glancing constantly at Allen, eagerly whispering about who might be stronger: Aristo or Allen?
-----------------------
The apprentices finished their lunch quickly. Meanwhile, Vesemir seemed intent on taking revenge for something, downing five bottles of Eastern East vintage in barely ten minutes. In the modern world, so much wine would have knocked out a regular person or even risked serious harm to someone frail.
However, witchers had high alcohol tolerance, so it posed no risk. Allen, noticing Vesemir's demeanor, felt he might even go for five more bottles.
Although Eastern East itself wasn't dangerous, its effects could be unpredictable. Aristo's fists were clenched tight on the oak table, veins pulsing. His golden cat-like eyes were filled with rage. Allen began to think that before his own fight with Aristo, Vesemir might get into a deadly scuffle with him first.
After lunch, they left the castle hall. Accompanied by the apprentices' excited cheers, Allen, Aristo, and Vesemir made their way to the training grounds.
Yes, it was the same place where Vesemir had held practical lessons on drowner hunting, the very spot where the Witcher Codex was activated and where Vesemir had once lost Elsa…
Returning to this spot to duel Aristo stirred deep feelings in Allen.
Naturally, it affected Vesemir just as much. His wandering gaze, particularly on Allen, betrayed his thoughts.
Not to mention, Vesemir was now wielding the rare Girna silver sword, which had slain both a red dragon, a green dragon, and several powerful vampires, clearly more valuable than Elsa.
So he hadn't shown any desire to retrieve Elsa, even though the sword's significance to him was profound. Being in a place meaningful to both of them and with a duel on the way, Vesemir suddenly turned to Aristo with interest.
"Aristo, how about a wager?"
Aristo squinted at him, flushed from the Eastern East, and asked, "What are you plotting now?"
Vesemir laughed and replied, "Didn't you lose just now? Here's a chance to win it back."
"I didn't lose anything just now," Aristo interrupted, unamused. "Those five bottles were a reward for your storytelling."
"Close enough," Vesemir shrugged, lowering the brim of his wide black hat. "In your upcoming duel with Allen, if you win, I'll give you five more bottles of the usual. But if you lose, you owe me five."
Aristo raised an eyebrow and glanced at Allen.
"Is he bribing me to keep his embarrassing stories quiet?" he wondered.
"Alright!" he agreed immediately, without bothering to add conditions to the duel. Clearly, whether it was a straightforward sword duel or an unrestricted combat, he didn't think he'd lose.
Seeing this, Vesemir smirked.
Just as he suspected, Aristo was as prideful as ever. Vesemir knew he couldn't beat Aristo himself, and based on swordsmanship and signs alone, Allen couldn't either. But Allen had potions.
He still remembered that day in the Melitele temple's library when Allen had downed one red and one blue potion in a blur, and before he could react, his staff had been knocked from his hands.
He didn't believe Aristo could withstand such an attack, no matter how powerful he was. That was a level of strength beyond mere swordsmanship and personal skill.
Of course, Vesemir didn't suggest this duel just for the sake of a few bottles. The thought had crossed his mind as they arrived, but it was ultimately trivial.
What was more important was…
A team can only have one leader.
In the Witcher Corps, even though Aristo wasn't vying for leadership, his presence as a more experienced witcher master overshadowed Allen's. Aristo's upright character and impeccable morals aside, his temper was irritable and proud. He'd never fully follow Allen's commands.
If Vesemir didn't establish a hierarchy now, once they spent a few more months together, conflicts would surely arise. They'd probably still have to fight to settle who's in charge. It was better to do it sooner, for the benefit of Allen, Aristo, and the guild itself.
As for whether using Blizzard and Alghoul Decoction might be considered dishonest, or whether Aristo would be satisfied… Witchers weren't knights.
Any tactic that "kills" the enemy is a good one, regardless of whether it's underhanded. Even in a sparring match. Besides, being able to create Blizzard, a potion bordering on miraculous, was a testament to Allen's abilities. Restricting him from using potions in an unrestricted duel would be the real underhanded tactic.
On that, Vesemir trusted Aristo's honor.
"Just a shame…" Vesemir glanced at the apprentices watching excitedly, a sly smile on his lips. "Aristo won't just lose face; he'll be out five bottles of vintage Eastern East…"
"Truly unfortunate!"
"Besides…"
"The Wolf School shouldn't have only one witcher master which Allen has tricked."
Unaware of Vesemir's scheming, Aristo, seeing the apprentices ready and Allen prepared, asked, "Swordsmanship or unrestricted—your choice?"
Under Vesemir's eager gaze, Allen naturally chose "unrestricted," which satisfied him with a nod. But then, watching Allen remove his reagent pouch without taking a single potion, Vesemir suddenly felt a chill.
He watched Allen step into the training ground, his gaze drifting to the ornate silver sword sheath, and felt a sudden flashback to that autumn day when he'd been hoisted up in glory by everyone around…
It seemed like… his apprentice was about to trick him again.
.....
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305. Getting Serious.
306. The Sapphire's Sinister Red Glow.
307. The Golden-Furred Beast.
308. Surviving Together.
309. "I'm Your Elder, Can You Trust Me a Bit More?"
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