The plain hemp robe, the double-layered dark-gray headscarf symbolizing "death to the mortal world," the simple white cincture, and the yew-wood amulet of the Goddess Melitele swaying on the chest—
It was exactly the same attire as a few months ago, yet for some reason, at this moment it seemed to have undergone a world-shaking transformation.
More exalted.
More sacred.
More holy—
Allen frowned. He was absolutely certain his senses were not mistaken. With a thought, he connected to the wolf medallion.
In an instant—
Two beams of holy white light shot straight into the sky. The dazzling brilliance was so intense that even the witcher had to shut his eyes.
When his vision finally adjusted, he discovered that the two columns of light came from Ianna and Nenneke. Especially Ianna— the pure white radiance surging from her body was like a sacred spear, piercing the gloomy, cloud-laden sky and plunging deep into the clouds.
When Allen's gaze rested on that white light, countless murmured prayers seemed to echo in his ears—yet when he strained to listen, they vanished without a trace, as though it were nothing more than an illusion.
Half a year ago, when he had first arrived at the Temple of Melitele, Allen had observed both Ianna and Nenneke using the wolf medallion's elemental sight—an observation mode different from appraisal, one that would not alert the target.
At that time, neither of them had borne such blinding white radiance. They had not even compared to ordinary mages; they had been no different from normal people.
Had the Goddess Melitele fully awakened?
"Ianna, you—you seem different somehow…" Vera had also noticed the anomaly. She swung down from her horse and walked up to Ianna, studying the two priestesses of the Temple of Melitele with confusion.
Fringilla Vigo and Visenna, on the other hand, showed no particular reaction.
Fringilla, born in Toussaint, had never seen priestesses of the Temple of Melitele before. To her, this merely confirmed the reputation of the most widely worshipped faith on the Northern Continent—it truly lived up to its name.
Visenna's reason was similar.
Although the Circle of Mayena Druids and the Temple of Melitele were not far apart and both lay within Temeria, to avoid conflict they had long ago tacitly divided responsibilities and dioceses. They rarely interacted in daily life. Moreover, Visenna was currently anxious about the child in her womb and could be said to have paid no attention to such changes at all.
After nodding politely to Fringilla Vigo and Visenna, who had dismounted, Ianna gave Allen a kindly smile before turning to Vera.
"What's different? I'm still just an old woman close to dying."
"Ianna!" Vera frowned, clearly displeased. "You know that's not what I mean—"
Ianna cut her off with a chuckle. "All right, all right. Let's not talk about that for now. Introduce the two guests to me first."
Vera fell silent, thoughtful, and did not press the matter.
Allen immediately spoke up and briefly introduced the identities of the two sorceresses.
Because Fringilla Vigo was present, he did not mention Visenna's pregnancy. He made up a casual reason and asked Nenneke to see the two sorceresses settled in.
"Sir Allen, I still have patrol duties—" Seeing that Fringilla Vigo and Visenna had left, and that Allen and Vera clearly had matters to discuss with Ianna, Lawson Roche took the initiative to excuse himself.
After Allen thanked him on behalf of the group, Lawson Roche shook his head, mounted his horse, had his men lead several spare mounts, and galloped back in the direction they had come from.
"He's quite good, isn't he?" Ianna said.
"He really is," Allen replied instinctively. Only then did he pull his gaze back from the receding figures and realize it was Ianna speaking to him. Curious, he asked, "Why did the temple suddenly rebuild a knightly order?"
"It was a revelation," Ianna replied without concealment as she walked toward the interior of the temple. "A revelation telling us to prepare."
"The Time of Sword and Axe draws near—an age of cold wolves and blizzards."
"The era of the end is approaching. The temple needs more direct power."
"The Crone Knights are one such force."
Vera's expression grew solemn. "And your changes as well?"
"This is power we were always meant to have," Ianna nodded, raising her hand to summon a sphere of holy white light to illuminate the path. "Like a warrior's sword and shield—when times were peaceful and prosperous, a seasoned warrior needed only to take up plow and hoe and till fertile soil. Thus, the arms were hidden away in deep chests—
"But now, tigers, leopards, wolves, and jackals watch greedily from the shadows—"
She shook her head and sighed, showing no joy at the transcendent might they had now gained.
"Tigers, leopards, wolves, and jackals…" Vera murmured, then asked, "To deal with the Wild Hunt?"
"Not only the Wild Hunt," Ianna said meaningfully, glancing at Allen.
Allen knew it. The Goddess Melitele had likely told Ianna most of what she knew.
The temple was preparing for the coming of the White Frost.
How much time did this world have left?
A sudden tightness seized Allen's chest, an instinctive panic rising within him.
'Not only the Wild Hunt'Vera frowned deeply, dissatisfied with Ianna's riddling manner.
She could not think of any force other than the Wild Hunt that would warrant such drastic changes from the Temple of Melitele.
And if it was not only the Wild Hunt, that meant the temple was guarding against something even more dangerous than the Wild Hunt—
What could be more terrifying than a force that could annihilate a city in the blink of an eye, or hurl another city across thousands of miles into the Valley of Thousand Monsters?
Vera opened her mouth, about to press the question.
But Ianna preemptively changed the subject. "You came this time for that child from the Circle of Mayena Druids, didn't you?"
"You could tell?!" Allen exclaimed in surprise.
Half a year ago, when he was afflicted by the evil god's curse, Ianna had needed to press her hand against his and search with divine power to find it.
Now, through a layer of flesh, from three or four steps away, she could tell there was a life growing there?
"Don't forget where this is," Ianna said, amused. "The place with the most pregnant women on the entire Northern Continent is the Temple of Melitele in Ellander. And that child is frowning, looking as if it wants to speak but cannot. You can tell just by looking."
"The Temple of Melitele isn't like you witchers, who specialize in slaying monsters. The Circle of Mayena Druids is no worse than us in medicine. That leaves only one thing—birth."
Allen felt a little embarrassed. He had been so shocked by the changes in Ianna and Nenneke that he had not thought in that direction at all.
The number of pregnant women Ianna had seen was probably greater than the number of women Allen had ever met.
Judging pregnancy from posture and expression really did not require any supernatural means.
"Still, I did indeed see it," Ianna raised an eyebrow. "There are two life auras on her. To the priestesses of Melitele now, that's very conspicuous."
Life aura—and visible to all priestesses of Melitele—
Allen turned his head slightly.
They had already followed the gentle slope up the hill, reaching the deeper part of the Temple of Melitele.
Under the deep night sky, the temple was as tranquil as ever.
Yet in the wolf medallion's elemental sight, the dark mass of palace buildings looked even more like a star-filled sky than the cloud-choked heavens above. Looking down, countless bright points of light were scattered throughout.
They were not as bright or searing as Ianna or Nenneke, but the sacred, bountiful aura was unmistakably the same.
A rough count of the points of light made it clear—all priestesses had completed this transformation, not just Ianna and Nenneke.
"Under Melitele's blessing, the changes in the priestesses are enormous—far greater than you imagine," Ianna noticed Allen's gaze. "If you're interested, you can ask Lysa tomorrow."
"Lysa is at the temple?" Allen asked, surprised.
In the past, whenever Lysa was present, he would usually see her the moment he entered the temple.
That was not due to fate or coincidence. As a newly inducted priestess—and one personally cultivated by Nenneke—Lysa was effectively Nenneke's assistant or attendant, helping with miscellaneous tasks.
And as Nenneke gradually took over the temple's affairs as Ianna's successor, handling receptions and secular matters, Lysa naturally appeared often at her side.
Thus, not seeing Lysa earlier had led Allen to assume she had been sent out on some temple assignment.
Otherwise, there was no reason Ianna and Nenneke would be out with lanterns in the middle of the night to greet them while Lysa slept soundly in her room.
"She is," Ianna nodded. "Lysa's changes are the greatest, aside from Nenneke and myself. The goddess favors her—and more importantly, she herself is extraordinarily diligent. More diligent than anyone I've ever seen."
"She was already hardworking and talented. Otherwise, even if Vera had sent her here, Nenneke would not have taken her on."
"Nenneke's standards are strict to the point of harshness."
"But a few months ago, after you drove out the evil god and left, Lysa became almost obsessed. Even Nenneke couldn't stand by and watch."
"By day, she completes the temple's routine training and duties. By night, she prays and studies the new divine arts bestowed by the goddess."
"Last month, there was nearly an entire week when she did not sleep at all, relying solely on her newly acquired divine arts to drive away fatigue."
"When Nenneke discovered this and tried to persuade her several times without success, she simply moved Lysa into her own quarters—
"At this hour, she should be in prayer. It wouldn't be appropriate to interrupt her."
"That's why, sensing your arrival, we came straight here instead of disturbing her—"
Allen was left completely stunned.
A whole week without sleep—so desperate—
And that was after driving out the evil god, a few months ago—
[Why won't you accept me? Do you hate me?]
[You like me. I heard it. You do like me.]
[You are an ascetic monk, but you can't withstand the fact that those around you are not chaste nuns. Especially sorceresses—I've heard people say that when witchers and sorceresses touch skin, there's a certain special pleasure—]
[Don't speak, Allen. Don't speak. I will leave, Allen. Before I leave, just give me a little more time—]
[I will wait for you, Allen.]
[Allen, you are not a pit of fire. You are the promised land granted to me by the Goddess Melitele.]
Allen recalled the cold yet blazing flame that had wrapped around him from behind, recalled the searing heat of skin pressed to skin, the warmth of tears, and the scent of daisies like waves crashing against hard stone—
"Allen?"
A call from beside him jolted the witcher awake. "Mm, I'll go see Lysa tomorrow—"
"Yes, that's fine, but that's not what I wanted to talk about," Ianna said, looking at him with a strange expression.
"What is it?" The witcher remained outwardly calm.
Ianna exchanged a meaningful look with Vera, then pointed behind him. "You've arrived at your room."
The witcher instinctively turned his head.
The familiar wooden door was right behind him. He had lived in this cabin for nearly two months—how could he not recognize it?
Only back then, Vesemir had been with him, as well as Erni and Klar from the witcher corps.
If Klar knew he had come to the Temple of Melitele, he would surely regret not coming along. If memory served, the apprentice priestess Klar was sweet on lived together with Lysa.
No—Lysa had moved in with Nenneke now—
No, why am I even thinking about this?
The looks in Ianna's and Vera's eyes grew increasingly strange. After snapping back from his wandering thoughts, the witcher found it hard to endure those gazes, which were starting to resemble scrutiny—as if he were some great villain harboring a secret that endangered the world, and they were trying to probe his soul through their eyes.
Right—witcher!
Allen quickly changed the subject. "Are Hughes and Bond still at the temple? How are their injuries recovering?"
Ianna smiled at him, seemingly unconcerned by the witcher's attempt to change the topic. "They're still at the temple, and they're recovering very well. These past few days they've been helping Duke Mason clear drowners from the surrounding villages—"
"If you want to see them, you can ask Sara tomorrow. His Monster Hunt Regiment went along as well."
"Mm," Allen steadied himself. "No rush. We can take them with us when we leave—mm—"
He pretended to look up at the sky. "It's getting late. I'll go back and rest. Vera, Nenneke, you should rest early too."
With that, he inclined his head in farewell, then hurriedly pushed open the wooden door and went inside.
Seeing this, Vera exchanged countless looks with Ianna in an instant—
"Tap, tap, tap—"
The footsteps outside gradually faded away.
Lying on the bed, the witcher finally let out a breath, staring absently at the wooden talisman hanging down from the beam above.
Back then, Philippa Eilhart had transformed into an owl and perched right on that beam, openly spying on him. After returning to Kaer Morhen, Philippa Eilhart had teased him more than once about what happened that night.
The witcher's keen eyesight seemed able to pierce the darkness, still making out the claw marks left on the beam.
He had never encountered a girl as bold as Lysa—climbing in through a window in the middle of the night, barging into a man's room, stripping off her thin clothes, and with a burning-hot body, tears streaming down her face, asking whether he loved her.
So resolute.
So mad.
So utterly reckless, leaving no room for retreat.
She was exactly the same as the girl who had found him when he left Viscount Hudson's abandoned mine, asking whether he could teach her to become a witcher, to kill the Glutton and avenge her parents.
No—she had always been the same person. It was just that after coming to the Temple of Melitele, the gentle image had covered up the madness of the revenge-driven girl—
[Allen, you are not a pit of fire. You are the promised land granted to me by the Goddess Melitele.]
The witcher, who had planned to rest for the night, tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
.......
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