"What?!!" Vesemir exclaimed in shock.
These past few days, the so-called path of the battle roar had tormented him greatly. Never before had he felt so helpless in mastering a skill that, in theory, a witcher should be able to learn.
Yet, Erni, Claral, and even Hughes and Spencer all seemed confident, as if they would grasp it soon.
Although, given their level, it was more likely that they lacked self-awareness rather than actually progressing quickly.
But even the slightest chance that the younger witchers might learn the Way of the Beast Roar before him was something he refused to accept.
He was… he used to be the youngest witcher master in the Northern Continent. He had his pride.
Lately, he felt as if he had returned to his apprentice days before the Trial of the Grasses. Just this morning, he had found a handful of hair on his pillow—double the anxiety.
"This method… I'm not entirely sure if it will work—"
"No need to be sure!" Vesemir smacked both hands heavily onto Allen's shoulders, cutting him off. "Just do it! The best thing about being a witcher is our tough skin, fast recovery, and resistance to toxins…"
"I'll be the first! Tell me, Allen, what potion do I need to drink?"
"Uh…" Allen, caught off guard by Vesemir's eagerness, hesitated for a moment before saying, "No need for any potions. Just sit down somewhere…"
Before he even finished speaking—
Three seconds later, Allen and Vesemir were already seated cross-legged on a large, flat rock, facing each other.
The posture felt oddly familiar, like a cultivation novel.
Of course—
Allen, being a transmigrator, was the only one who found it odd.
Seven pairs of wide eyes stared at them, stacked one behind the other, all fixated on Allen.
Vesemir carefully handed his worn black wide-brimmed hat to Erni, then turned to Allen with an expectant look.
So—
Allen pushed aside his distracting thoughts and asked, "Are you ready?"
"Go ahead." Vesemir took a deep breath, his gaze resolute. "Don't hold back. A witcher master's body isn't so fragile."
It's not that serious… Allen wanted to say.
He wasn't entirely sure the method would work, but it wasn't a matter of life and death or a test of a witcher master's endurance.
But seeing Vesemir looking so solemn under the watchful eyes of the young witchers—
And catching a glimpse of the admiration flickering in Erni, Claral, Clay, and Ice' cat-like eyes—
Allen simply nodded and swallowed his words.
He ran through the process in his mind, the knowledge seemingly engraved into him from birth. After a final glance at the surrounding young witchers—
He took a deep breath and focused his will.
Wolf Medallion!
Monster Hunt!
The world fell into silence.
Sparse motes of four-colored light drifted in the air. Within a hundred meters, there were only a few hundred particles of fire, water, earth, and wind elements.
That was expected.
This was just an unremarkable mountain hollow in the Mahakam range—not a place of magical power or an elemental nexus.
Of course—
The ambient elemental concentration didn't affect his ability to awaken Vesemir's Way of the Battle Roar.
As Allen moved, his sapphire cat-like eyes swept over his surroundings.
Wherever his gaze landed, Erni, Claral, Spencer, and Hughes all shrank back instinctively.
Even Vesemir's golden eyes twitched slightly, and his steady breathing grew a bit heavier.
Then Allen, seemingly unaware, closed his eyes.
"Whew~"
Almost the instant he did, faint sighs of relief sounded around him.
Allen's tone remained indifferent. "You might feel a strange sensation, but don't resist me, Vesemir."
Without waiting for a response—
His consciousness detached, moving like using Monster Hunt to strike monster, drawing in the spiritual energy around him as he surged toward Vesemir.
But unlike when he attacked monsters, his spirit didn't halt upon touching Vesemir's chest—it passed straight through.
"Ugh~"
Vesemir grunted, seemingly suppressing the discomfort and the instinct to resist the foreign energy within his flesh. Yet Allen was surprised—Vesemir's resistance was unexpectedly weak.
More precisely—
If Allen's resistance to external spirits was at 100, Vesemir's was barely at 5 or 6. And that wasn't even counting his Aard Shield.
Allen had made a habit of maintaining the Heliotrop Shield at all times, to avoid the awkwardness of having his thoughts read by sorcerers. If it ever faded, he would immediately reinforce it.
"Maybe it's because of the 'Mysticism' attribute…" Allen speculated.
Vesemir's perception was on par with his own, but his mysticism stat was nearly forty points lower. Among all relevant attributes, only perception and mysticism had a direct link to spiritual resistance.
But thoughts didn't hinder actions.
Allen's spirit pushed forward effortlessly, like water slipping through a veil, entering Vesemir's body.
In an instant—
Blood rushed through veins, roaring like a river.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
His heart thundered like a storm, its echoes resonating through his ribcage, flesh, and stark-white bones.
Between skin, muscle, and bone, ethereal elemental light shimmered.
Even under the detached emotions of Monster Hunt, Allen couldn't help but pause in awe at the scene before him.
Not because it was gruesome or surreal—his own body was even more grand and magical compared to Vesemir's.
But instead...
"It actually works!" Allen's spirit trembled violently.
"What works?" Vesemir's deep voice echoed through his flesh and bones, like thunder from myth.
Without realizing it, he had used Telepathy... Allen quickly refocused and said, "Nothing."
"Pay attention to the strange sensations coming up. I'll be doing this several times—you need to remember it clearly!"
"Got it." Vesemir's voice trembled slightly. The feeling of having the spiritual defenses within his flesh breached was unpleasant—Allen understood that well.
Especially for someone with keen perception, it felt like having one's clothes forcibly stripped and paraded through the streets—a deep sense of humiliation.
Allen didn't delay any further. He swiftly passed through skin, muscle, and bone, reaching straight to Vesemir's heart.
Thump, thump, thump—
The already rapid heartbeat grew even faster.
It was resisting.
Next to the heart, an organ twice the size of Allen's, nearly as large as the heart itself, pulsed with an unstable glow of four-colored elemental energy.
"Hold on!" Allen's spirit rippled slightly.
Vesemir didn't respond, but the surrounding flesh and organs visibly tensed.
The mutated organ's flickering slowed but continued to tremble uncontrollably.
As soon as his heartbeat and the mutated organ reached a certain state, Allen's spiritual energy fluctuated countless times in the blink of an eye.
In just one second, his mist-like, transparent spiritual energy was molded and shaped by his will. Without any delay, it wrapped around the heart and mutated organ like a thin, transparent membrane, then extended straight upward to the throat and the root of the tongue.
Vesemir's heart stopped for two full seconds.
This was the most dangerous moment.
If Allen failed to synchronize with Vesemir's heart, two things could happen—either his spiritual energy, due to desynchronization and repulsion, would injure Vesemir's heart...
Or Allen, realizing the desynchronization at the last moment, would have to forcibly withdraw his spiritual energy and will from Vesemir's body, rendering all efforts wasted.
Of course...
After last night's attempts, even in the most dangerous scenario, Allen knew he could manage the latter.
But for an ordinary person, without long-term repeated practice, the only possible outcome would be failure.
However, even though this was Allen's first time awakening the Path of Battle Roar, it felt as if he had honed this technique through countless trials.
At the moment Vesemir's heart faltered, the thin layer of spiritual energy adhered tightly to it, vibrating at the exact same frequency.
And then…
Thump~
Thump~
Thump~
With just three beats, his heart began to pulse with a distinct rhythm.
Slowly.
Dark red light seeped into the blood, nearly indistinguishable against the already crimson backdrop of flesh. But the moment those dark red specks emerged, Vesemir's entire body rippled like the tides beneath a full moon.
Immediately after—
The mutated organ unique to Witchers, situated beside his heart, also began to tremble under the influence.
Blue, red, brown, and green magical energies swirled together, merging into the bloodstream.
The dark red glow surged upward at an increasing speed, carrying magic through an unknown internal pathway, rushing toward the Witcher's throat and tongue.
Yet, it didn't reach them directly.
Instead of continuing forward, the tremendous energy halted just before colliding with the magical node beneath the tongue, only to rebound toward the heart in a rhythmic cycle.
Then, as the heart resumed beating, both the blood and the mutated organ released Battle Cry energy along with magic.
This cycle repeated three times.
Each time, the heartbeat quickened, and the energy overflowed faster than before—like waves rising higher with each surge.
Then, on the final cycle—
The energy, infused with both Battle Cry and magic, erupted as if fueled by a decade-old blood feud, finally encountering its long-awaited moment of release.
It didn't even need Allen's guidance.
With an overwhelming, sky-shattering fury, it slammed into the magical node beneath the tongue, seeking to shatter it completely.
For a moment, even Allen's thoughts stalled, before he hurried to catch up.
And then—
In the nameless valley of Mahakam.
Under the watchful eyes of the spectators, Allen—his eyes still tightly shut—suddenly opened his mouth.
At the same moment, Vesemir's eyes snapped open, his dark golden, feline pupils widening. His lips moved involuntarily—
"Yirulr—"
It was like the wounded roar of a lion or tiger, a primal threat reverberating through the mountains and forests.
The next instant.
A shockwave—comparable to Vesemir's full-powered Aard Sign—exploded from his body.
"BOOM!!!"
Erni, Claral, Clay, Ice, and the other seven young Witchers who had been watching were caught off guard—instantly triggering their Quen shields.
"Ah!"
"Ah!"
"Ah!"
Amidst startled cries, they were sent tumbling backward like rolling gourds, knocked off their feet by the sheer force of the blast. Yet, despite the shockwave's intensity—on par with a Grandmaster-level Aard—it was not a lethal spell.
Moreover, it was released in a semi-circle, away from Allen's position, and the young Witchers had been standing on the slope below.
As a result, they were merely left in a sorry state, their Quen shields intact.
"What just happened?" Ice shook his head, dazed, as he pushed himself up from the ground.
Clay, Hughes, and Spencer all wore similarly bewildered expressions.
Only Erni and Claral, having recovered from their disoriented rolling, immediately turned their gaze toward the dust-filled explosion site.
"Master Vesemir… this… this… was it a success?" Erni's eyes shone with excitement.
"It must be." Claral could no longer contain himself, rushing toward the thick smoke.
But as soon as he reached the halfway point—
A suffocating pressure froze him in place.
It felt as though something far more terrifying than a ghoul… no… even more monstrous than a Fiend lurked within the haze.
Until—
"How do you feel?" Allen's voice, calm yet filled with concern, pierced through the silence, breaking the oppressive tension.
Then—
A furious windstorm burst from the smoke, dispersing the lingering dust.
Allen looked toward Vesemir. Vesemir, in turn, had his head lowered, staring at his own hands.
At first glance… nothing seemed different.
Claral, still skeptical, slowly stepped forward. But as he drew closer, he noticed something off—
Vesemir looked taller. Broader.
The legendary Wolf School Grandmaster armor, coveted by every Witcher, now seemed slightly tight on him.
Vesemir, catching Claral's gaze, glanced at him.
Claral's entire body stiffened—frozen, like a bird encountering a natural predator.
He didn't regain his composure until long after Vesemir had looked away.
"T-This… this is definitely not 'nothing changed'…" Claral sucked in a sharp breath, his anticipation growing as he hurried forward.
"How do you feel?" Vesemir flexed his fist.
"Boom!"
A muffled crack sounded as veins bulged hideously across the back of his hand.
Vesemir took a deep breath, savoring the rush of oxygen fueling the near-burning power surging through his body.
"I feel like… even Chief Sol couldn't beat me now."
"I'll make sure to pass that message along when we get back." Allen chuckled.
"That won't be necessary!" Vesemir raised an eyebrow, feigning composure. "Chief is already busy enough—no need to trouble him further."
Allen had only been joking—but now he was genuinely intrigued.
While Battle Roar wasn't as potent as Beast Roar, which could quadruple a fighter's strength, it could still double one's abilities.
And for a Witcher Master, even the slightest increase in strength took years to achieve.
If Allen remembered correctly, Grandmaster Sol's stats were—
[Stats: Strength 59, Agility 63, Constitution 73, Perception 74, Mysticism 56]
That was significantly lower than Vesemir's current stats.
[Stats: Strength 64, Agility 63, Constitution 78, Perception 84, Mysticism 54]
So why, after doubling his strength, did Vesemir still lack confidence in defeating him?
Was he serious?
Vesemir held Allen's gaze for a few seconds before finally saying:
"Chief Sol… and us…"
"Are simply not the same."
.....
📢Advanced chapters on p@treaon📢
For advance chapters: [email protected]/Uchiha_Itachi007 (replace @ with a)
1. 30 advanced chapters of American Comics: Multiverse of Madness.
2. 30 advanced chapters of Warhammer, but Emperor's Chosen.
3. 20 advanced chapters of The Witcher: Wolf School's Hunting Notes.