The Witcher: Wolf School's Hunting Notes

"My memory is excellent. The soil here differs from the other affected by the spells," Miguel said as he continued to plunge his hands into the dark, damp earth.

There are many spells capable of manipulating soil, and even with just raw mental power, they could still be performed with great precision at their level. However, Miguel seemed worried that the magical fluctuations might cause some object to slip away. It also seemed that if he used the powers befitting his identity as a wizard, his suspicions would be confirmed.

Thus, he carefully dug with his bare hands, like an ordinary farmer, gently and meticulously turning the soil.

Moist soil, rotting insect carcasses, and even live earthworms poking their heads out, twisting and writhing—yet there was no sign of the thing they were searching for.

"Squish~"

An earthworm was crushed with a flick of the finger, its dark red flesh bursting out.

He continued digging.

Vilgefortz wanted to help, but Miguel refused, leaving him to watch in silence.

Miguel's fingers were scratched by sharp rocks, the blood slowly seeping into the earth as he dug a hole about half a meter deep and a meter wide, before stopping. Calmly, he summoned various ritual materials.

Water divination, fire divination, internal organ divination...

Complicated divination methods, but none of them yielded any results.

In the water divination, all they saw were their own faces. The internal organ divination only showed a blurred mass of meaningless flesh and blood. As for the fire divination... had Vilgefortz not been paying attention, the flames would have nearly burned Miguel's already ragged robe.

In the silence, a cold, biting despair slowly began to consume them.

Then, Miguel turned to Vilgefortz with an exhausted, drained look.

Vilgefortz said nothing. Instead, he nodded solemnly, then waved his staff.

The Ithlinne's Star Phantoms once again wove a hazy white illusion.

The Wild Hunt had come, buried black stones, and then left.

In an instant, the illusion shifted, as if the moment in the middle had been stolen.

Miguel didn't ask Vilgefortz why the illusion had suddenly changed.

The fact that none of the divinations had yielded results was a result in itself.

"There must have been someone who came before us," Miguel said, staring at the illusion, hoping to spot a figure, "They're special. Fate itself tries to hide them... And it's not just that they dug up the treasure before us..."

He raised his head, as if recalling something...

[...Dh'oine... you actually managed to kill her... how dare you kill her...]

"There had been signs," Miguel sighed, his mood visibly lifting, "Our teammates at Ban Ard, never would have thought we would be manipulated and lose so much..."

"Miguel, do you think someone came before us, killed another Wild Hunt member, and framed us for it?" Vilgefortz asked calmly.

Miguel nodded.

They stood in silence, staring at the half-covered pit.

Suddenly, Miguel pointed at the illusion over the pit and turned to Vilgefortz: "Have you ever encountered something like this before?"

-------------------------

"Screech—"

Good girl, let me sleep a bit longer...

"Screech!"

Such an aggressive call...

No, a good girl wouldn't call me like that. Who is she threatening? Who is she warning?

His body was falling, drifting.

"Allen!"

It was Vesemir. His tone was much more urgent than usual.

So... Vesemir is facing off with the Griffin... Why?

"Screech!"

"The... the Griffin," Vesemir's voice trembled with fear, though he was also trying to soothe the creature, "Where is Allen? Didn't he return with you?"

"Vesemir..." The voice came from the right. Allen tried to lift his right hand to wave, but he couldn't feel his body.

His soul seemed to be drifting away from his body.

But thankfully, Vesemir must have heard something.

"Allen! Allen! Are you there? What happened?" he shouted, his voice rapidly approaching.

"Screech!"

The Griffin was warning.

"Whoosh—thud—"

The sound of something heavy striking a tree followed by the Master Witcher's painful cry.

"Good... good girl..." After the cry, Vesemir was still trying to approach.

"Screech! Screech!"

The Griffin's calls grew more irritable, increasingly aggressive.

Allen suddenly realized what he needed to do.

[Good girl...]

He reassured in his mind.

[Vesemir is a friend.]

"Screech?"

[Yes, his name is Vesemir. He is trustworthy.]

"Screech~"

The frantic beating of the wings stopped.

"Good... good girl?" Vesemir spoke cautiously.

Allen suddenly felt his body lighten and fall into a cold embrace.

It wasn't just cold, it was uncomfortable—sharp steel studs on the wrists, leather pouches on the chest, and the nails of the shoulder and chest armor pressing against him.

This was the typical outfit of a Wolf School Witcher.

But Allen never knew that a Witcher's embrace would feel so uncomfortable, so unsuitable for holding someone close.

Perhaps Witchers were never meant to have close, affectionate connections. They were just killing machines, hunters of monsters, always roaming the wilds...

"Hiss~"

Allen winced in pain.

Vesemir's steel studs on his left arm pressed against his lower back, aggravating his wound with a sharp pain that felt like electricity shooting through him.

Cold sweat poured down his face.

"What happened, Allen?!!"

The Witcher Master's voice was sharp with panic.

Allen wanted to speak, but he was too weak to say anything.

[I'm back.]

At that moment, he realized he must have returned to the Melitele temple... No, it was the hillside behind Mahakam, outside the temple...

But why was Vesemir here?

Before he could think further, he faintly sensed that someone was carrying him swiftly, and the rushing wind through the trees brought with it the familiar scent of the temple, calming his spirit.

Gradually, a warm current seemed to flow through his body, making Allen feel comforted and drowsy.

"Allen!"

Strong hands shook him vigorously, and footsteps thundered closer. The blurred voices sounded like waterfalls crashing down.

He grumbled in annoyance.

"Allen! Wake up!!" Rough hands lightly slapped his face, "Wake up! Can you hear me?"

The voices were all mixed together, chaotic.

Allen suddenly realized that the uncomfortable embrace had changed to a hard, smooth treatment table, but it wasn't cold. Instead, it was comfortably warm.

"Melitele above! What happened? I saw him just fine this morning, walking with Lysa on a date..."

"Yeah! He ate three baskets of bread at lunch, and scared the pregnant women in the dining hall."

"Speaking of dates, where's Lysa? She..."

Before they could finish, urgent footsteps echoed.

"Ah!"

A terrified scream followed by more hurried footsteps.

Then, Allen was suddenly placed into a soft embrace.

The fresh scent of eucalyptus surrounded him. It was the scent of a healing balm from the Melitele temple.

"Allen! Allen! Are you okay?" The young priestess called out, grabbing his hand.

Immediately, a warmth similar to the one from earlier surged through him, making him feel better.

He felt his strength returning, and was about to comfort Lysa.

"Stop panicking like this, or he'll be in danger..." The voice of Ianna, the Archpriestess, came from outside.

"Archpriestess..."

"Archpriestess..."

The others inside greeted her.

"Melitele above!" Ianna's voice was sharp, "You Wolf School Witchers really have some nerve! Just half a day gone, and look at him!"

"He's just a fourteen-year-old boy! Doesn't the Wolf School have anyone else?"

"It's my fault, Archpriestess Ianna," Vesemir's voice was full of self-reproach.

"Ha~"

Allen tried to speak up to defend the Witcher Master, but all that came out were weak coughs.

"Allen!!!"

The repeated cries came.

"Alright, enough! I know this isn't Vesemir's fault! You should rest now!" Ianna lightly tapped Allen's leg, making him wince in pain.

"The Archpriestess is here, he'll be fine."

This was the voice of Nenneke, with Lysa softly sobbing in the background.

"Shh~"

The mysterious energy from the journey and the warmth Lysa had passed to him made Allen feel much more in control of his body.

He could feel Vesemir carefully removing his armor.

At one point, a sudden chill swept through him.

"Hiss~"

The sound of people sharply inhaling echoed around him.

Whispers filled the room.

"Wow! Allen, the knight from Ellander, has quite the physique!"

"Stop thinking like that! He's Lysa's man!"

"No wonder he's a Wolf School Witcher—such clear muscle definition and a well-proportioned frame... Lysa is lucky."

"Yeah! Yeah!"

"Quiet!" At this moment, it seemed that Ianna realized there were too many people in the treatment room. "Everyone who is not involved, leave... not you, Lysa... you stay."

"Although I won't allow you to assist in the healing, you should still learn properly..."

Ianna paused for a moment, her tone meaningful. "In the future, you might have to deal with this kind of injury quite often."

"That's right~"

"That's right~"

"Learn well, Lysa!"

Some voices, still leaving, teased her.

"Ianna, elder~" Lysa grumbled in dissatisfaction.

But she stopped crying.

Since the Archpriestess still had time to joke, Allen's injuries must not be too severe.

"Minor burns... scrapes... these definitely wouldn't make a Witcher's body so weak..."

Cold hands moved down from his neck and along his back muscles, making him involuntarily shiver. Then a familiar energy seeped into the places where the hands had touched.

"Muscle fascia ruptures... internal bleeding... Merciful Melitele... such severe injuries, with the Witcher's body, he must have fallen from a height of over a hundred meters... yet his bones have only minor fractures..."

"Strange! Strange!"

Ianna was baffled, pausing for a second.

"Archpriestess, is Allen in serious condition?" Vesemir asked, his voice filled with concern.

"Shouldn't be too serious, mostly shock caused by excessive blood loss..." Ianna's voice faltered slightly, as if she too was confused. "Forget it... Nenneke... bring me the number four scalpel... we need to clear the blood clots first..."

"Lysa, prepare the divine magic: Healing Light..."

"Okay, Archpriestess..." Hearing that Allen's injuries weren't too serious, the young priestess let out a sigh of relief. "But didn't you teach us before, if we can avoid using divine magic and let the wounds heal naturally, we should?"

"Healing Light, seems..."

"For regular people, it's fine." The metallic sound of metal clashing rang as Ianna took a knife heated in the flames. "Divine magic forces the target's vitality to be drained, in other words, shortening their lifespan, but Witchers..."

Ianna paused, then continued: "Witchers, due to their mutations, not only have vitality many times stronger than ordinary people, but also, thanks to their mutated organs, they respond exceptionally well to healing magic..."

The Archpriestess seemed very familiar with the anatomy of Witchers.

It made the people present feel uneasy, as though she had personally dissected several Witchers, and even more unsettling was the thought that some living ones might still be hidden in the temple's deep underground rooms.

They exchanged glances and fell into an uncomfortable silence.

"What are you all thinking?" Without turning around, Ianna could already sense the odd atmosphere behind her. "This is Vera's record..."

Perhaps sensing it wasn't enough, she added, "And it was given to me with Sol's approval. By the way, the improvement of the Grass Trial's brew also has my contribution."

"I see..."

Everyone let out a sigh of relief, then looked at Vesemir with a strange expression.

They might not have known about such matters, which was understandable, but how could a Witcher Grandmaster, who had been at it for decades, not know?

"I asked Vera and Sol to keep it a secret," Ianna sighed, answering for Vesemir.

"What's the point of improving the brew? The Grass Trial still kills people... many people will keep dying... many children..."

Nenneke and Lysa fell silent.

At this point, it seemed inappropriate to say anything.

Vesemir glanced at Allen, his mouth opening and closing, but he didn't say the news about the Wolf School's trial mortality rate.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Ianna, Nenneke, or Lysa, but in this room, or even on the Northern Continent, there was only one person qualified to disclose such information to the public.

Of course!

That person wasn't him, but it was still closely related to him.

Allen was his own apprentice!

The Witcher Grandmaster thought to himself.

The treatment room remained in a strange silence for a long while.

Until Ianna suddenly stopped her movements, hesitating, and turned around, breaking the quiet of the room.

"Nenneke... did you... grab the wrong scalpel?"

.....

📢20 advanced chapters on p@treaon📢

For advance chapters: [email protected]/Uchiha_Itachi007 (replace @ with a)

377. Ban Ard Is No Longer a Threat.

378. Could It Be He's Not the Child of Prophecy?

379. Spiral! The Witcher Who Commands Time and Space!

380. Source LV1.

381. Allen, What Are You So Anxious About?