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"Vesemir, what was that—?" Letho stared in shock, eyes wide.
"It looks like… a magical barrier?" Vesemir wasn't certain either. "Somewhat like the Quen Sign—what I mean is the active shield you get after reaching a very high level of mastery—"
Unlike Letho, he wasn't overly startled.
Training the Witcher Corps wasn't his responsibility, but during the past few months, when he traveled the Continent with Erni and Klar, Allen had often discussed various topics with him.
Elemental resonance, Sign stacking, battlefield coordination—
To be honest, Vesemir hadn't fully understood most of it.
And the idea that more than a dozen witchers releasing the Igni Sign simultaneously could produce a spell that would shock even sorcerers—
That sounded a bit like wild fantasy.
In real combat, if a group of witchers could avoid getting in each other's way, they were already considered well trained.
In fact, his thinking hadn't been wrong.
Although not frequently—since Allen often completed contracts alone—these kinds of experiments had gone on for three or four months. From outward-casting Signs like Igni's flames and Aard's shockwaves, where Signs might at least collide or interfere with one another, to Quen's shield and Yrden's magic trap, which fundamentally couldn't produce any "resonance" at all—
Not once had they succeeded. There hadn't even been the faintest sign of success.
But now, Allen seemed to have actually done it.
And not with Igni or Aard, but with the most difficult one of all—Quen.
Putting aside how strong the defense was, just the sheer coverage of that magical barrier alone would be incredibly effective for certain special contracts, like escorting merchants or nobles, or protecting injured companions.
Only—
"This Quen… looks a bit strange," Vesemir muttered, silently observing the golden barrier in the distance, puzzled.
"Quen?" Letho shot Vesemir a glance. "Are you joking? Since when could an active shield cover an entire training ground big enough to pack in a hundred people?"
Though both were magical barriers, and both were golden in base color, the spell that completely enveloped the apprentice training ground could not possibly be Quen.
Not just because of its color, but because of that feeling—
How to put it—
Exquisite. Perfect. Elegant.
Even the rippling patterns across the golden light followed a unique rhythm. It didn't feel like a spell created by sorcerers at all, but rather—
Elves.
Yes!
Elegant like the long-eared ones who had once known glory—so obsessed with beauty that even killing spells were crafted with unnecessary elegance.
But it definitely wasn't Quen.
"Why don't we just go ask?" Vesemir said, at a loss for words himself, sharing the same doubts.
Before Letho could reply, another change occurred on the training ground.
"Very good! Hold it! Keep your breathing steady!" Allen shouted, then turned to Mary.
Mary immediately understood and began chanting.
Her voice was youthful and clear, yet like a resounding horn. The mysterious incantation she recited echoed across the entire training ground from its very first syllable, swiftly drawing in its most loyal audience—magic.
It gathered, listened, cheered, rejoiced—
The magical fluctuations born of these emotions rose in response to Mary's increasingly piercing voice, growing so immense that even the air began to distort.
"How has Mary improved this much?" Vesemir blurted out.
He wasn't a sorcerer, but in his long years as a witcher, sorcerers were the extraordinary beings he had encountered most often.
He knew very well the difference between strong and weak ones.
When Mary had faced the royal griffin near Vengerberg, she had still been trembling, able to cast only a few simple buffing spells. But now, that soaring chant and the elemental response powerful enough to warp the air—
For a moment, he thought he was seeing Vilgefortz of Roggeveen.
Wait—
Vilgefortz?
Catching the faint scent of ionized air and listening to the increasingly familiar incantation, Vesemir's face changed drastically.
"Stop, Mary!" Vesemir suddenly shouted.
"Crack!"
The explosive roar of thunder and lightning drowned out his cry.
The clear sky abruptly dimmed; in less than a second, clouds completely engulfed Kaer Morhen.
The magic in the air grew so dense it seemed ready to solidify, yet so restless it could explode at any moment.
Mary heard nothing. Instead, Letho, standing beside Vesemir, was startled. "What's wrong, Vesemir? What's happening?"
"That's Alzur's Thunder!" Vesemir shouted. Ignoring whether approaching would get him caught in the blast, he shoved Letho aside and sprinted madly toward the apprentice training ground.
He knew Allen and Mary were testing the strength of that golden barrier—but testing strength still required choosing the right spell!
Was Alzur's Thunder something you could casually use for testing?
Especially given the violently boiling elemental currents in the air, like water at a rolling boil, and the witcher medallion vibrating at a sharp, ear-piercing frequency—
The caster wasn't holding back at all!
In fact, a spell as powerful as Alzur's Thunder didn't even allow for "holding back." Even high-level sorcerers found it extremely taxing to cast. How could they restrain it?
What horrified Vesemir even more was that Allen had quietly stepped out of the barrier.
Of course, he wasn't afraid that the youngest witcher master of the Wolf School would be struck dead. Months ago, Allen had already survived Vilgefortz's Thunder and even counter-killed him.
Several months later, Allen's strength was far beyond measure. There wouldn't be any problem for him.
What Vesemir was worried about were Hughes, Bond, Fred, and the other young witchers.
How could Allen use such a powerful spell to test a brand-new technique?
Didn't Allen know that the elemental intensity around Kaer Morhen was already vastly different from the past?
Hughes and the others would be reduced to ash by lightning!
"Alzur's Thunder—" Letho's expression also changed instantly upon hearing that.
But he didn't follow Vesemir. Instead, he sprinted toward the castle at once—not out of fear, but because unlike Vesemir, he was utterly unsuited to the Quen Sign.
Rather than acting on impulse and becoming a burden, it was better to quickly find Vera and get healing ready.
"Allen and Mary are far too reckless!" Letho cursed inwardly as he ran at full speed.
Unfortunately, it was already too late.
Neither Vesemir nor Letho had gone far.
"Boom—!"
Lightning tore across the sky like a dragon, thunder roaring.
Mary cried out, raising her staff, which gleamed with a grim cyan light, straight toward the heavens.
For an instant, the world fell silent.
The violently surging magic around the apprentice training ground vanished completely.
The next second—
"Boom—!"
Bolts of lightning, thick as white dragons falling from the sky, burst from the dense storm clouds and crashed down upon the golden barrier, which had dimmed somewhat after Allen stepped away and now looked exceptionally fragile beneath the overwhelming might of heaven.
"Boom!"
In the blink of an eye, dazzling lightning swallowed the entire apprentice training ground.
"No!" Vesemir's eyes split wide, his mind shaken as the shockwave's gale flung him backward.
Letho grabbed Vesemir and shouted, "I'll stay here—you're faster, go find Ve—"
"Vesemir, you're back—hm—Letho!" A figure emerged from the smoke and dust of the training ground, clearly delighted.
Seeing who it was, Vesemir cried out in anguish, "Allen, how could you be so reckless? Quickly! Quickly save—"
Before he could finish.
The smoke over the apprentice training ground rapidly dissipated, revealing the golden barrier still covering the entire area.
The barrier was intact—no, structurally intact, though noticeably dimmer.
Inside the golden shield, Hughes, Clay, Klar, and the others were panting heavily, but in the end—
Alzur's Thunder had been completely blocked.
Vesemir's voice caught in his throat. He stared, dumbfounded.
Letho was equally stunned.
That Alzur's Thunder just now hadn't been weakened in the slightest. A single bolt would have been enough to turn him—Quen and all—no, Quen couldn't properly resist spells—it would have been enough to turn even him, fully deploying the Heliotrop Sign, into a human-shaped lump of charcoal.
And yet now—
A group of young witchers who had only recently passed the Trial had endured it head-on—and endured it completely!
This wasn't the same as dodging a lethal attack.
If they could tank Alzur's Thunder, then they could tank virtually any attack from any large monster on the Northern Continent.
And in the past, any young witcher—let alone someone only a year out of the Trial, even ten or twenty years—would have met certain death when facing a large monster.
What did this mean?!
"It's just a pity they can only defend and not attack, otherwise every young witcher could become a witcher master," Letho thought. "But even so, this alone is enough to greatly strengthen the Wolf School. Paired with experienced witchers, any large monster could be hunted safely—"
At that moment—
The young witchers noticed Vesemir and Letho outside the training ground, and the golden barrier immediately shattered.
"Still unstable—" Allen frowned. "Spencer, Silo, you two lost focus! You know what to do."
"Yes, Captain." Spencer and Silo didn't make excuses. After sighing, they obediently walked to the edge of the training ground, picked up two heavy stone locks, and began running laps around it.
Vesemir and Letho exchanged glances, the shock in their eyes impossible to hide.
"They already blocked Alzur's Thunder, and they still get punished?" Letho couldn't help asking.
"Blocking Alzur's Thunder is what they should do," Allen shook his head. "But once you lose focus and an enemy seizes that opening on the battlefield, it's very likely everyone will be wiped out."
Witchers on a battlefield? Letho wanted to say that—but this was Allen's Witcher Corps. Even if he had always thought of it as children playing house, there was no reason to say something so dispiriting.
Of course, after witnessing what they had just seen, no one would still think the Witcher Corps was merely a game.
And perhaps because nearly a year had passed since they last met, Letho felt that Allen now carried an aura of strength that felt unfamiliar, impossible to underestimate.
Was this still the Allen he knew? Letho wondered.
"You plan to take your Witcher Corps on the expedition to Dol Dhu Lokke?" Vesemir asked, watching as the other witchers also picked up stone locks and began jogging after Spencer and Silo.
He knew those young witchers of the Witcher Corps all too well.
If there were no benefits, they would never behave this obediently—especially Hughes and Spencer, those two thorns in the side.
Of course.
They wouldn't disobey Allen's or Vesemir's orders, nor would they slack off in training or contracts, but they would definitely grumble a bit.
For things to be like this now—no complaints at all, even taking the initiative to train harder—there had to be something driving them from behind.
When Vesemir spoke, Allen himself showed little reaction, but the footsteps inside the training ground suddenly grew uneven, quite a few of the young witchers slowing by several beats.
Just as I thought—Vesemir mused.
"I'm still hesitating," Allen said, glancing at the training ground. "The expedition to Dol Dhu Lokke is very dangerous. With their current state—"
He shook his head, then changed the subject. "Vesemir, are you planning to join as well?"
"Of course. That's why I came back. Letho too—" Vesemir replied.
After that—
Vesemir and Allen chatted idly for a few moments, and Letho joined in, bragging a little about what he'd seen and heard over the past year.
But as the conversation went on, Letho gradually fell silent.
He suddenly realized that something didn't seem quite right.
Although Allen was the captain of the Witcher Corps, was it really up to him whether Hughes and the others joined the expedition?
Of course not!
The expedition to Dol Dhu Lokke was a commission between the Brotherhood of Sorcerers and the Wolf School. Who went and who didn't was something only the Wolf School's Grandmaster, Sol, could decide.
So why did Allen speak as if he had the authority to decide such a major matter?
More importantly, Vesemir looked as though this were perfectly natural.
Letho had a vague premonition that, over the past year, something significant had happened within the Wolf School.
Given his relationship with Vesemir and Allen, there was no need for hesitation. He opened his mouth to ask directly: "Vesemir, Allen, recently—"
Before he could finish—
Clang~
A strange sound rang out.
An orange-red portal appeared in the apprentice training ground.
It was Vera, the Crimson Red Fox.
Letho instantly froze like a rooster being grabbed by the throat—mouth open, face flushed red, unable to say a single word.
Seeing Vera approach, he hurriedly emptied his mind.
Vera didn't notice—or perhaps she did, but simply didn't care.
After sweeping her gaze over the apprentice training ground, she walked up to Allen. She merely gave Vesemir a slight nod, then looked at Allen and said abruptly, without any preamble: "Sol has persuaded them."
Persuaded who? Persuaded about what?
The ignored Letho didn't get angry. Instead, he let out a sigh of relief, then grew puzzled by Vera's cryptic words.
At that moment, he saw Allen's eyes light up. He quickly headed toward the portal, stopping halfway only to remind the young witchers in the apprentice training ground to train properly. After bidding farewell to Vesemir and Letho, he hurriedly left with Vera.
Clang~
Letho watched the orange-red portal vanish from the apprentice training ground. Then he looked again at the young witchers, who, after finishing their punishment, had begun a strange new form of training there, deep in thought.
That peculiar authority within the Wolf School—
That strange art capable of allowing a group of young witchers, not long out of the Trial of the Grasses, to block a master-level air spell like Alzur's Thunder—
Perhaps Vesemir's suggestion…
…wasn't quite so hard to accept after all.
..........
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