"The Brotherhood of Sorcerers' expedition to Dol Dhu Lokke—do you plan to take part?"
Allen froze when he heard Ianna's question.
He had imagined Ianna supplementing information about the Melitele priests' new abilities. He had imagined she might tell him about the arrangements for next year's Holy Child ceremony. He had even imagined that perhaps the Goddess, after bestowing too much divine grace upon her favored ones, had issued some prophecy about the Wild Hunt or the White Frost before falling into slumber again.
But he had never imagined it would be about an expedition to the Valley of Thousand Monsters.
This had absolutely nothing to do with the Temple of Melitele.
Could it be that Vera, on behalf of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers, had also invited the priests of the Temple of Melitele?
"Uh…" Unable to grasp Ianna's intention, Allen carefully chose his words. "Lady Vera only returned from Thanedd Island today. I haven't had time to ask about the details of the conference yet, and because of Visenna's matter, I came straight to the temple."
"But if the Brotherhood of Sorcerers plans to commission witchers—commission the School of the Wolf—to participate, then yes, I'll certainly be among them."
"What is it, Granny Ianna?"
"Has the temple also been invited?"
Ianna shook her head. "Why would the Brotherhood of Sorcerers invite us? It's not like Tissaia de Vries hasn't seen how Melitele's priests drag their feet."
"You're being a bit harsh," Allen said, shaking his head in disagreement. "In the battle to banish the evil god, without your miracle-like buffing divine arts, without the priests' healing, the evil god wouldn't have been so easy to deal with."
"But since the temple won't be involved, why are you asking me this?"
Ianna fell silent for a moment, then tilted her head and looked ahead, gently stroking the swollen belly of the Pregnant Woman statue with maternal tenderness. "Your mother asked me to persuade you—to persuade you not to take part in this expedition."
Mother—
The muscles throughout Allen's body instinctively tensed, then relaxed. "So you already know."
Ianna nodded, stretching out her rough, withered right hand and gently patting Allen's head. She said with pity, "Being a witcher is not a path one can turn back from, nor is it an easy road to walk. On the contrary, it is difficult—perhaps the most difficult road in this world."
"Misunderstanding, hostility, hatred, loneliness, pain—glory is only temporary, but these negative things will follow a witcher for their entire life."
"So—"
"No one expected you to forgive them, and no one dared to hope you would forgive them, even though they did have their own reasons."
"Our greatest hope was that you would spare yourself, that you wouldn't stray onto the wrong path."
"But we never imagined that you would choose to forgive—"
"This is the best possible road."
Ianna looked at Allen with relief, her eyes full of gentleness and approval.
Because I'm not Allen—the witcher thought. The one truly called Allen had died a year ago, perishing under the bone-melting torment of the Trial of the Grasses.
He was merely a wandering soul from another world, whose life had been ended by a cup of milk tea, who had crossed worlds and stolen the fate of a witcher apprentice with an extraordinary background.
The real Allen had never forgiven, even in death. Even the instincts left behind in his body were filled with hatred, with hostility—
Poor child…
Seeing Allen lower his head, his mood sinking, Ianna sighed inwardly. She didn't linger on the topic and instead changed the subject. "Back to the expedition to Dol Dhu Lokke."
"Vera told me that countless sinister, cunning, and extremely powerful monsters dwell in Dol Dhu Lokke, which already makes that place exceedingly dangerous—"
"And not long ago, at the Brotherhood of Sorcerers' assembly, the two sorcerers Belendil Rogrides and Agostino Austin publicly proclaimed your name and deeds—Godslayer, Griffin Knight, genius witcher alchemist—"
"Of course, they had ill intentions."
"Belendil Rogrides—you may know of him—"
"The sorcerer of House Rogrides, whose sigil is a black acorn with a golden diagonal stripe," Allen nodded. "Philippa Eilhart of Aretuza once mentioned him to me."
"At the time, she even said that Arch-mistress Tissaia de Vries would move to indict Belendil Rogrides before Ban Ard and the Rissberg civil consortium did."
"But clearly, Belendil Rogrides seems to have suffered no punishment at all."
"Tissaia de Vries is too rigid," Ianna shook her head. "Too rigid. Too obsessed with rules, and that makes it easy to deceive her."
"Most likely, the expedition to Dol Dhu Lokke had higher priority. To prevent complications, she postponed the indictment of Belendil Rogrides."
"But even without that, the Rogrides family would have found a way—clinging to the rules and using them to fool her."
"She'll suffer a great loss over this someday."
Allen raised an eyebrow when he heard this.
Ianna truly deserved her position as the leader of the largest religion on the Northern Continent. Tissaia de Vries had indeed suffered a devastating loss in this regard—
She had been deceived by both Philippa Eilhart, representing the Northern Kingdoms, and Vilgefortz, who defected to Nilfgaard. This led to the collapse of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers on Thanedd Island, and ultimately to her own suicide after being betrayed by her handmaidens.
Allen didn't know whether Ianna's few sentences truly grasped the truth of the matter, but she was probably not far off.
Tissaia was like a judge who clung rigidly to the law, while the laws and rules of the Northern Continent were themselves written for the ruling class.
House Rogrides belonged to that ruling class.
Argue rules with them, and the result would inevitably be nothing.
"Who is Agostino Austin?" Allen rubbed the stubble on his chin, searching his memory again and again, yet unable to recall ever offending such a person.
"He is the leader of the Crowned Silver Eagle," Ianna said. "One of the largest alchemist associations on the Northern Continent. More importantly, the Crowned Silver Eagle originates from Tretogor, the royal capital of Redania."
"Related to Radovid IV?" Allen frowned.
"On the surface, no," Ianna smiled. "It's merely an alchemical organization subordinate to the Brotherhood of Sorcerers—"
"But in reality?"
"In reality, since its founding, the Crowned Silver Eagle has been inseparably tied to the Redanian royal family," Ianna said. "Its founder was a direct member of the Redanian royal line—one with magical talent—"
"Wow, all enemies made through dealings in Drakenborg," Allen raised an eyebrow, not particularly concerned.
Ever since he had cut off the head of Drakenborg's administrator, Baron Evans, he had already anticipated having such enemies.
Compared to Eredin Bréacc Glas, King of the Wild Hunt, and the White Frost, however, whether it was House Rogrides or Redania hardly seemed worth mentioning.
At least they were human. Their numbers and strength were predictable.
The King of the Wild Hunt, on the other hand, was a bottomless abyss—and not to mention the White Frost, which to this day remained inexplicable, its nature unknown.
Of course, this didn't mean House Rogrides or Redania were weak. On the contrary, even without Redania, House Rogrides alone could use its power and connections to seriously hinder the School of the Wolf.
As for Redania, a great power second only to Temeria, its threat hardly needed elaboration.
This very assembly of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers was a clear example.
Allen's name had undoubtedly become famous among all major supernatural forces of the Northern Continent.
That was not necessarily a good thing.
More precisely, fame itself was good—that was precisely why Vesemir had handed all the credit for the May Festival and the banishment of the evil god to him, making it easier for the witcher to accept higher-quality, better-paying contracts.
But the Brotherhood of Sorcerers was the wrong setting.
Belendil Rogrides and Agostino Austin had essentially announced openly to all supernatural forces that he was a juicy piece of meat—and not only that, they had provided the Valley of Thousand Monsters as a venue where everyone was free to take a bite.
The School of the Wolf, Vera, and the backgrounds he had on the surface were completely nullified in the face of the malice of House Rogrides and the King of Redania.
Anyone would be tempted to come and try, to see if they could tear off a mouthful or two.
But what if he didn't go to the Valley of Thousand Monsters?
That would only prove his cowardice, his inability to face challenges—dealing a massive blow to the reputation he had built.
And once the expedition ended, the malice directed at him and at the School of the Wolf would continue unabated.
This was an open scheme.
"The enemy of a lion must be an evil dragon; the foe of rats can only be vermin," Ianna suddenly spoke, interrupting the witcher's thoughts. "But your enemies are far too powerful—and this is only after a single year."
She smiled helplessly, looking troubled on Allen's behalf. "It's hard to imagine who your enemies will be a few years from now."
"I thought you should already know," Allen smiled wryly. "My destined nemesis was decided the moment I was born—"
I should know—
Ianna froze for a moment, realizing something. She immediately reined in her smile and sighed inwardly.
Yes. Compared to his destined enemy, what were House Rogrides or Radovid IV?
"Let's not talk about that," Allen noticed the sorrow on Ianna's face and promptly changed the subject. "Why didn't Vera tell me all this herself? Why did she have to ask you to persuade me?"
"I asked her," Ianna sighed softly, gazing into the witcher's clear blue cat-like eyes. "She said that when she looks into your eyes, she can't bring herself to say a single word of refusal. As long as it's something you want, she could even give her life—"
Allen fell silent at those words, subconsciously avoiding Ianna's sincere gaze.
The bright afternoon sunlight slanted through the sanctuary's small window, illuminating the face of the Pregnant Woman statue of Melitele.
The pregnant woman's smile was gentle and loving. She looked down at her swollen belly, as though it were everything to her—her future, her world.
"And what about you, Granny Ianna?" Allen withdrew his gaze from the statue and looked straight into Ianna's eyes. "Do you think I should retreat? Do you think I… can retreat?"
This time, it was Ianna who fell silent.
But she didn't remain silent for long. She suddenly laughed, shaking her head lightly. "Why must you mother and son put me in such a difficult position? Didn't you already make your decision long ago?"
"But—"
She paused, her smile fading, and locked eyes with the witcher. "Take Lysa. Take Melitele's priests. As long as you promise me you'll take them with you, I'll help you persuade Vera."
Take Lysa?!!
Allen opened his mouth.
"Vera has made up her mind this time," Ianna seemed to guess what the witcher wanted to say and waved her hand to interrupt him. "I know her well. Although Vera has never shown it in front of you, she has always been a textbook sorceress—a bad woman who will stop at nothing to achieve her goals."
Hearing this, Allen gave a bitter smile. "But you just said that when she looks into my eyes, she can't bring herself to say a single word of refusal."
"But she can choose not to look and not to listen," Ianna said with a knowing smile, as if she had him completely figured out. "She can blindfold herself, knock you out, or take advantage of a moment when you're off guard to poison you, lock you up in the dungeons of Kaer Morhen. I know her—she's capable of doing that."
"Don't be like this, Allen—" Seeing the difficulty on Allen's face, Ianna continued, "You should also have experienced through Lysa that Melitele's favored ones are no longer the same as they used to be."
"They're no longer just medical troops for mundane armies. They can face enemies head-on, like true warriors."
"Of course, compared to fighting, their healing abilities are only even stronger."
"But that's a battlefield," Allen said. "Lysa and the other priests have never experienced real combat. That's not the same—"
"That's exactly why they need this opportunity even more." Ianna raised her voice.
"Allen, this is not a discussion."
Her expression was grave. "We all know what the future holds for this world. Soon, greater disasters will come one after another."
"Disaster will not show mercy just because someone has never set foot on a battlefield."
"Melitele's favored ones need to mature faster, to adapt more quickly to dangerous environments, so they can save this world from the Wild Hunt, from the evil god, from the White Frost."
"I will not give up this training opportunity—with the Brotherhood of Sorcerers providing escort—just because you disagree."
"Even without you, the Holy Child, the Temple of Melitele has plenty of excuses to intervene in this expedition. Tissaia de Vries and Nascis de la Roche would only be delighted, cheering for it."
"So tell me, Allen—"
"What is your answer?"
Allen was silent for a few seconds, then nodded helplessly. "You've left me no other choice."
"But I can't guarantee that I'll bring all the priests back alive."
"Then Melitele's eternal fields of harvest will welcome all fallen heroes," the wrinkles on Ianna's face smoothed as she gently patted Allen's shoulder and glanced toward the corridor. "I'll go persuade your mother now. Would you like to come with me?"
Allen cast a glance at the three sacred statues of Melitele standing silently at the center of the sanctuary, then shook his head. "No."
"I still have some matters to attend to here in the sanctuary—"
.......
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