"Ve... Vesemir? Allen?!!"
The moment Danthe looked back, he even wondered if he was hallucinating from blood loss.
Or perhaps… the ancient Leshen, like a Foglet, could conjure illusions to confuse people.
Otherwise…
How could Vesemir and Allen possibly appear in Redania at this moment?
Each witcher master had routes for their contracts that rarely overlapped, to avoid the kind of conflicts that happened in the Witcher Orders due to overlapping jobs.
Vesemir's usual route should've been through Kaedwen, Aedirn, Temeria, and Cidaris, then heading south through Sodden and Lyria, returning to Kaer Morhen for the winter...
"It has to be the Leshen's illusion... it must be the Leshen's illusion…"
Wait…
It wasn't just Vesemir and Allen—why were Erni and Klar here too?
A few apprentices who couldn't even pass the downgraded Mountain Trials without help—how could they be fighting toe-to-toe against the Leshen's summoned ravens and grey wolves?
What kind of illusion is this—one meant to fool children?
Danthe shook his head and ignored the "illusions" trying to tempt him. He bounced Fred on his back to steady him and immediately bolted in the opposite direction of the battle.
Only ravens and wolves were visible on the battlefield now—the Leshen was surely lurking in the shadows, watching him!
"Danthe! Danthe! Why are you running?!!"
"Master Danthe!"
Vesemir and Allen's anxious shouts mixed with the sounds of battle, the cries of the ravens and grey wolves. Carried by the howling wind, they reached Danthe's ears.
The tone, the timbre—even the emotion in their voices—was too real.
He couldn't tell.
He couldn't tell at all!
"This is what it means to bear the title 'Ancient'...!" Danthe was so tense, it felt like his heart was caught in his throat, his back chilled to the bone.
Hearing the voices at his ears, he wasn't even sure anymore—was he truly running toward the edge of the oak forest? Or was he just being manipulated by the Leshen, circling around the same tree where Fred had been bound?
"But how come I didn't notice this power during the day?"
"Does it only work at night?"
"Why wasn't this mentioned in the school's monster compendium? This could kill someone…"
"No... wait... I'm being stupid. The monster records hardly had anything on Leshens in the first place..."
"A creature hidden deep in the mountains, semi-divine, and rarely interacting with humans… it was never really the Wolf School's target…"
"When I get back, I have to update those records…"
"If I can make it back…"
Amid the chaos of shouts and battle cries, Danthe muttered under his breath, trying to keep himself conscious and calm the growing dread and panic inside him.
Just then—
Danthe suddenly felt a hot, damp breath gently brush the back of his neck.
That wasn't Fred's breath!
It was like a lurking beast had finally crept silently behind its prey, exhaling with amusement against the most vulnerable part of its target.
The pores on Danthe's neck erupted in goosebumps.
Bzzz!
The snarling wolf-head medallion on his chest suddenly emitted a piercing buzz.
In an instant, an overwhelming sense of danger made his scalp tingle—his heart nearly stopped.
The Leshen... had caught up to him!!!
"Danthe! Watch out!"
"Master Danthe!"
---------------------
Amid the painfully real cries of urgency and the increasingly sharp, stinging warnings of danger, Danthe's brown cat-like pupils suddenly contracted—he whipped around.
A massive shadow blotted out the stars and moon.
Towering at least six meters tall, like a great oak, a figure reached toward him with branch-like claws—long, sharp, and skeletal.
Death itself stared at him through a pale deer skull mask.
"Danthe, get down!"
Hearing Allen's "urgent" shout—though he still believed it was an illusion—Danthe, as if driven by instinct, actually dropped to the ground.
"Ngh~"
A strong, earthy stench rushed into his nostrils, and somewhere in Fred's limp body slammed into the deep wound at his waist.
The searing pain tore through him, forcing a muffled grunt from his lips.
The moment he hit the ground, he regretted it.
"Why would I listen to an illusion?!!"
"Maybe the Leshen itself is just a hallucination, meant to make me stop moving…"
At that thought, a crushing wave of despair surged over him.
But witcher masters of the Wolf School never gave up just because of despair. His hand gripping Fred's arm tightened, veins bulging as he prepared to roll out of the Leshen's range.
"Screeech—!"
As if the sky had collapsed, a massive oppressive force fell from above, accompanied by an enraged shriek.
Danthe's brown pupils narrowed into slits.
A massive black shadow with wings wide enough to blot out the sky dove from above, claws outstretched like a falcon swooping down for its prey.
"A Royal Griffin!!!"
Danthe's heart nearly stopped.
It was over.
His chest sank like falling into an icy abyss.
The overwhelming pressure from the beast, so different from that of the Leshen—it couldn't be an illusion.
With the Leshen blocking him from the front and a Royal Griffin diving from behind, he was truly trapped.
And yet…
Danthe still struggled—
Crack! Crack! Crack!
The thick oaks around them shattered like twigs under the griffin's talons, breaking apart as if they were nothing.
Countless leaves, broken branches, and wood chips whirled through the air.
The ferocious wolf-head medallion on Danthe's chest thrashed wildly against his dark red armor as if it had gone mad.
In his trembling brown cat-like eyes, the blood-colored claws and inky talons loomed closer and closer—until, in a flash, they swept just half a meter over his head. So close that Danthe could clearly see the strange bronze rings on those deadly talons.
Wait a second!
It passed over?
The Royal Griffin wasn't aiming for him?
By the time Danthe realized this—
Boom!
It was like a battering ram smashing into a city gate. The Leshen's twisted body was flung backward, crashing into the ground and rolling through an entire row of oak trees before vanishing into a cloud of dust and debris.
Danthe, in a twisted posture, braced himself with one hand on the ground while dragging the unconscious Fred with the other.
He stared dumbfounded at the deep trench gouged into the earth, nearly forgetting to dodge the falling branches.
"The Royal Griffin… actually saved me?"
Was this an illusion too?
But why would the Leshen bother creating a hallucination where it gets blasted away? Was it into that kind of self-humiliation?
Danthe's eyes widened in disbelief.
Yet, recalling that crushing pressure—the kind that felt like it was squeezing every organ in his body—he suddenly thought of another, far more bizarre possibility…
"Screeech—!"
After landing a devastating blow, the Royal Griffin let out a piercing cry and beat its wings, soaring back into the sky.
"Danthe! What were you running for?!!"
Vesemir ran up and slapped Danthe hard on the shoulder.
Still weak and in shock, Danthe hadn't expected it—his head and right shoulder were driven straight into the dirt.
Vesemir froze, looking awkward.
"You're really Vesemir?"
Danthe pulled his face out of the mud, still dazed.
"What kind of stupid question is that? Of course it's me…" Vesemir rolled his eyes, then explained, "At dusk, Hughes was rescued and brought back to the Temple of Melitele. From him, we learned your location and rushed over immediately."
"It was because of Hughes… I'm just glad he's okay…" Danthe let out a breath of relief, but as he tried to get up, his movement suddenly froze. "Wait… the Temple of Melitele? The one in Ellander?"
"The very same…" Vesemir replied.
"That's impossible. Ellander is at least three days from here on foot, and you—"
"Three days on land, yes," Vesemir interrupted with a mysterious smile, curling the corner of his mouth. "But not in the sky…"
"Not in the sky…" Danthe was stunned again. Then a realization struck him, and his eyes widened in shock. "You mean—"
"That's right. That Royal Griffin is our companion."
"Wait… the Griffin… you guys…" Danthe was at a loss for words. At this moment, it felt like a thousand questions were piling up inside him—
Like, how in the world did they manage to tame a Royal Griffin?
Those young witchers still finishing off the last of the crows and gray wolves—weren't they supposed to be back at Kaer Morhen?
Why did they seem far stronger than newly graduated witchers who had only just passed the downgraded mountain trials?
And that slap on the shoulder from Vesemir—why did it feel so much stronger than before?
----------------------
Countless questions tangled like a ball of yarn blocked his thoughts, leaving him unable to even sort out the most basic ideas for a while.
"Enough. I know you have many questions. Once we deal with the Leshen, I'll answer them all one by one…"
Vesemir pulled Danthe up from the ground, glanced at Fred's pale face, and frowned.
"Fred is still breathing… just fainted…" He gently peeled back Fred's eyelids and checked his pupils. Then slinging Fred on his back, he scanned the surroundings and asked, "Why did you get involved with the Leshen? That's not like your usual style…"
"And Danthe, Fred is here, but where's Bond?"
"I don't know," Danthe lowered his head in shame. "This morning, after we were suddenly attacked by the Leshen, we were scattered by the large number of crows and wolves it summoned."
"Fred was closest to me at the time and was taken by the monster. I… I only managed to save… No, if you guys hadn't come, I wouldn't have even saved Fred…"
He rubbed his face so hard his skin distorted, reopening his barely healed scars, which bled bright red.
"Danthe…" Vesemir sighed and was about to gently pat his back.
"The Leshen… right… that monster isn't that easy…"
Danthe recalled the Leshen being blasted away by the Royal Griffin and suddenly turned around.
He saw Allen carrying his silver-white longsword, walking along the deep furrow the fight had plowed into the ground. While running toward that direction, he shouted instinctively: "Allen! What are you doing? Come back! That's a Ancient…"
Before he could finish, he suddenly felt Vesemir grab him.
"What are you doing, Vesemir? Stop Allen!"
"Let him go, let him vent," Vesemir shrugged his shoulders and adjusted Fred's posture. "He's been holding it in all this time…"
"What do you mean holding it in… venting?" Danthe was stunned for a few seconds before understanding Vesemir's words.
"Are you crazy?" he shouted, trying to break free from Vesemir's grip. "That's the Leshen! And not just any Leshen—it's an elder who at least deserves the 'Ancient' title, a manifestation of the forest god…"
"Allen, dodge quickly!"
Danthe's voice suddenly sharpened.
But it was already too late.
Just after calling Allen's name, from the dark void behind Allen, a thin, sharp, skeletal claw silently stretched out and stabbed straight at the back of Allen's heart.
"Clack!"
Whether Allen heard the warning or not, he rolled just in time to avoid this sneak attack.
At least a meter-long claw plunged straight into the soil.
Danthe's heart, which had been held tight, eased a little. He quickly grabbed Vesemir's arm and said, "Get Fred to Erni, have them ride that royal griffin, and leave this oak grove immediately. We need to help Allen…"
But Vesemir did not move when Danthe pulled him.
"I can't go," Vesemir shook his head gently. "The Leshen moves unpredictably. I need to protect… Fred…"
"Erni and Klar can't leave either. The Leshen can summon beast packs at any time. We can't let the beasts harass us or Allen…"
Danthe noticed the hesitation in Vesemir's voice and his gaze darkened.
"Don't worry," Vesemir patted Danthe on the shoulder, "Allen now is completely different from the witcher you imagine…"
Completely different… Danthe couldn't understand.
It had only been half a year—how much difference could there be? Any improvement in combat memory, whether magic or melee skills, takes long training for muscles and brain to remember.
Especially melee.
Besides the brain's comprehension, long-term muscle training to form muscle memory is even more important.
At the start, mastery can come quickly, but later, every bit of progress takes months, years, even decades…
Danthe's impression of Allen still stopped at half a year ago, when the apprentice dueling contest had just ended.
Though Allen now seemed renowned across the Northern Continent, due to limited information, his fame circulated only among the highest kings, sorcerers, and great nobles.
That was only because frequent long-distance communication happened after Ban Ard and the Wild Hunt events.
But in reality,
His name might not have even reached many cities in Temeria itself.
Not to mention Danthe, who mostly wandered around Redania, leading apprentices and refusing difficult contracts; he knew almost nothing about Allen's major events from the past six months.
Tavern songs might sing of Allen, but unless you witnessed it yourself,
Who would believe the person in those songs was the apprentice who had just passed the mountain trial?
So,
Danthe frowned tightly, wanting to convince the suddenly careless Vesemir: "What difference could there be? I already said that's an elder Leshen with the title 'Ancient'…"
Suddenly, Danthe's tone stopped.
Because he realized Allen was actually holding his own against the Leshen…
No!
Danthe's brown cat-like eyes widened.
"How is this Leshen being held down in the fight?"
...........
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