Rescue Hen Gedymdeith?
Even Allen found the idea absurd.
Never mind how dangerous it would be to infiltrate Ban Ard—the whole Northern Continent knew about the enmity between the School of the Wolf and Ban Ard. To have them risk life and limb for the dean of Ban Ard? That bordered on dark comedy.
Vesemir thought he'd misheard. "Lady Tissaia, the Hen Gedymdeith you're referring to… is it the one we know?"
"That's right," Tissaia de Vries shook her head. "Dean of Ban Ard Academy, High Councilor of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers, member of Chapter of the Gift and the Art—Hen Gedymdeith."
Vesemir fell silent. He exchanged a glance with Danthe but didn't speak further.
That silence in itself was an answer.
Not everyone, however, responded in silence.
"Tissaia de Vries, have you lost your mind?" Ianna frowned deeply, the lines on her face creased with disbelief. "How could the School of the Wolf possibly agree to this? Even ignoring the grudge between them, this would break their neutrality."
Tissaia cast a glance at Evenson and asked, "Does the School of the Wolf still have the luxury of neutrality?"
No one answered.
At that moment—
"Vmm~"
The witchers' medallions on their chests buzzed.
With a metallic clang, an orange portal shimmered into existence in the center of the room.
The air rippled with spatial magic, sending gusts of wind that made the candle flames dance wildly.
"This matter isn't urgent," Tissaia said calmly. "Let's settle what's before us first, and then we'll speak again."
Allen, Vesemir, and Danthe turned in surprise.
They had assumed this was a bargain—rescue Hen Gedymdeith, and in return, Tissaia and Aretuza would speak on their behalf in the Brotherhood and across the North. But Tissaia smiled gently and even winked at Allen. "I told you, Aretuza stands on the side of order."
Allen didn't get the chance to respond.
From the portal stepped Arthur, the Captain of the Guard of Ellander, clad in silver-white ornate plate armor, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
He scanned the room warily, gave a slight nod to Allen and the others, and then returned into the portal. Then, a whole procession began pouring out from the swirling orange light.
Arthur, Sara, Duke Mason, two more knights from the Ellander Royal Guard, Philippa, and finally, a gorgeously dressed female sorceress in blue and white, adorned with pearls and shimmering jewelry.
She wore a long gown trailing the floor, her golden hair twisted into a complex floral braid. She had to be Augusta, Ellander's magical advisor.
Right behind Augusta came a man with a lute, dressed in a lilac-fringed short jacket and a tilted feathered hat—a bard.
After the bard entered and Nenneke followed, the portal finally disappeared.
The reception hall instantly felt full, buzzing with energy.
After Duke Mason and Augusta greeted the room and took their seats, the flamboyantly dressed bard—looking like a vibrant bird of paradise—stepped forward with dramatic flair.
"Ah! Arch-Priestess Ianna!" the bard proclaimed in a theatrical vibrato, "Yevgeny Virlad offers you his deepest respects!"
"Praise be to the great Melitele and her priestesses, the source of virtue and wisdom—"
"Melitele welcomes you as well, Yevgeny. I've heard of your name—you're the bard who wrote Death Knight from the North, aren't you? A fine piece. Many little ones in the temple hum your tune all day long." Ianna smiled kindly.
"To receive praise from the most noble incarnation of the Goddess herself is the greatest honor of my life, Arch-Priestess Ianna," Yevgeny Virlad replied with fervent emotion. "But the true appeal lies not in the ballad itself—but in its hero…"
He paused, and as his gaze caught Allen standing beside Vesemir, his eyes immediately lit up. "That must be the witcher-knight knighted by the wise Duke Mason—Sir Allen of Ellander!"
Allen felt a little awkward under the bard's sudden wave of fiery enthusiasm. "Hello, Mr. Yevgeny. Yes, I am Allen."
Bard Yevgeny Virlad stepped forward three times in quick succession and clasped Allen's hand tightly.
"I've long wanted to meet the hero of my ballads, but never had the chance until now."
"It's the first time I've seen someone's feats outpace my updates to their songs…"
"But rest assured, the next ballad is already in the works. I've already decided on the title—The Godslayer of Ellander…"
---------------------
Yevgeny Virlad's voice was deep and lyrical, full of rhythm and character.
He laid praises upon Allen like there was no tomorrow, using different phrases and metaphors, hailing him as a hero without equal, past or future.
The only problem was—he was extremely long-winded. And he spoke so fast, it was nearly impossible to interrupt.
"All right, Yevgeny," Sara stepped in to rescue Allen from the flood of praise, "His Grace the Duke, Arch-Priestess Ianna, and Lady Tissaia are all waiting. Whatever you have to say, save it for afterward."
"Apologies. I got a bit too excited—please forgive my lack of decorum…" Yevgeny paused, then bowed deeply toward them all.
"No harm done," Ianna waved her hand with a smile, still seeming a bit amused and not entirely dissatisfied. "But let's get to business. I'm sure you already know why you're here?"
"Of course!" Yevgeny Virlad placed a hand on his chest. "It is my greatest honor to witness this moment…"
Ianna looked toward Mason.
"Hmph." Duke Mason, seated in his high-backed chair, cast a disdainful glance at the dazed Evenson and gave a cold snort. "The nobility of Redania is clearly in decline—now they've resorted to scheming against witchers."
He cast a glance at Tissaia de Vries, then gave Allen a solemn nod. "Rest assured. You may be a witcher of the School of the Wolf, but you are also Allen of Ellander—my knight."
"So long as justice is involved, a liege lord should protect his vassal."
"Sir Allen, I'm pleased to see that in times of trouble, you still remember your liege."
Without waiting for Allen to respond, the old duke turned to Tissaia de Vries and Ianna. "Since everyone is here, shall we begin?"
Both Tissaia and Ianna nodded, sitting up straight with composed formality.
The atmosphere in the drawing room immediately grew solemn.
In a soft voice, Ianna said, "Master Vesemir, please lift the binding spell."
Vesemir nodded and waved his hand, undoing the Axii sign.
Evenson instantly came to his senses, waking from the mental haze.
He blinked groggily, and the moment his eyes landed on Vesemir, Danthe, and Allen, his pupils shrank sharply. But instead of panicking, he frowned and scanned the room. With a forced tone of bravado, he barked:
"This isn't Drakenborg! Where have you taken me—"
"This is the Temple of Melitele. Isn't that obvious?" Ianna cut him off coldly, pointing to the Three Holy Statues of Melitele on the wall.
"The Temple of Melitele?" Evenson' expression changed drastically. "No temple has the authority to judge a noble of Redania! Do you even know—"
"Who ordered you to assassinate us?!" Danthe roared, his eyes wide with fury.
"What assassination?!"
Evenson glanced at the elder in the plain priest's robe seated in the high-backed chair, then at the three elegantly dressed women nearby—clearly sorceresses. His gaze then landed on the royal crest of Temeria on Duke Mason's chest and the silver-white armor of Arthur, the knight commander of Ellander.
Nobles… His eyes lit up, a flicker of hope rising in his chest. Straightening up, he declared self-righteously: "It was our wizard, Padrek Vasquez of the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization, who risked his life to save one of your apprentices in Drakenborg!"
"And you—under the pretense that your apprentice was gravely injured and in need of healing—used our goodwill to trick your way into Drakenborg. You dared to kill Padrek Vasquez, a respected wizard of Rissberg, within the borders of Redania!"
"This is a blatant insult and provocation toward the King of Redania! Is this what you call neutrality, School of the Wolf?"
"No!"
"This is no longer neutrality!"
"You did it for those long-eared elves! You want to free them! You've betrayed humanity!"
Evenson snarled viciously, accusing loudly, "My lords and ladies, I was appointed the overseer of Drakenborg by the King of Redania himself! I suspect the School of the Wolf is colluding with the elves—!"
"You're lying!" Danthe, beside himself with rage, lunged toward Evenson, only to be held back by Allen.
"Lies hold no power in this place." Allen shook his head at Danthe, stopping him.
At that very moment—
"Blasphemy! You dare spew such lies in the presence of the divine?!" roared Nenneke, eyes ablaze with righteous fury.
Evenson shrank back, casting a pleading glance at Duke Mason, who, as a fellow noble—possibly even a member of Temeria's royal family—might have shown him some favor.
But Duke Mason met his eyes with a cold, frostbitten stare.
The hope that had briefly flickered to life in Evenson's heart was instantly dashed into a pit of despair.
At that moment, Ianna turned to Tissaia de Vries and said, "Tissaia, hurry it up. If you can't dig out the truth, then even though Melitele isn't the goddess of justice or punishment, she has granted us the divine art of discerning lies."
"I'm very curious—just what kind of villain would dare to plot against witchers who dedicate themselves to driving out evil from the world of men?"
Tissaia de Vries was unbothered by Ianna's bluntness. A faint glow of violet magic flickered in her pupils.
"I didn't! I didn't! It's all lies—they're framing me!" Evenson stammered, panic surging through his body like ice down his spine. He desperately averted his gaze from Tissaia and staggered backward, clearly trying to flee.
Buzz!
The three snarling wolf medallions hummed sharply.
In the next instant, Evenson froze in place. His pupils glowed with the same violet magical radiance that shimmered in Tissaia de Vries's eyes.
"Speak," Tissaia said calmly, smoothing the folds of her flowing blue gown on her lap. "Was it you who conspired to harm Master Danthe of the School of the Wolf, and his apprentice?"
Evenson struggled faintly, almost imperceptibly, before he gave in: "It was me. I conspired with Padrek Vasquez and Little House. We issued a false contract in Montecalvo to lure them into the leshen's hunting grounds."
"Bastard!" Sara clenched her fists, her eyebrows flaring upward in fury.
Tissaia gave her a brief glance, then continued: "Why did you want to harm the School of the Wolf?"
"To get out of Drakenborg."
"Who promised to help you leave?"
Evenson opened his mouth, lips moving, but no sound came out.
Instead—
Buzz... Buzz... Buzz!
The three wolf medallions on Allen, Vesemir, and Danthe's chests suddenly jerked upward, vibrating violently.
And at that exact moment—
"AAAHHH—!"
Evenson's face twisted with unbearable pain as he let out a piercing, anguished scream.
The violet magical glow in his eyes wavered erratically.
"Careful!"
The three witchers' expressions shifted instantly, while Arthur and Sara moved to shield Duke Mason without hesitation.
But—
"It's fine," Tissaia de Vries snorted coldly. "No one plays tricks in front of me…"
She hadn't even finished speaking when—
The violet light in her pupils surged, glowing even more intensely.
Inside the reception hall, a surge of immense mental force erupted into a terrifying storm—but it surrounded only Evenson. Neither Arthur, Sara, nor Duke Mason were affected, and not even the flames on the wall-mounted candles so much as flickered.
Such unbelievable control… Allen's sapphire eyes narrowed sharply.
This overwhelming mental pressure was beyond anything he had ever witnessed before.
No—wait.
Back at the Ban Ard Academy, after the trial tournament between the Wolf and Cat Schools' apprentices, Hen Gedymdeith had also demonstrated power of this level.
But back then, Allen's own perception and mystical sensitivity had been too weak. With no proper frame of reference, he simply hadn't been able to comprehend just how strong Hen Gedymdeith truly was.
Now, even without the need for formal identification, he could tell—
Tissaia de Vries had far surpassed even Ronnie Dickinson, who had reached the peak in both perception and mysticism. It was just as he'd suspected.
All five members of Chapter of the Gift and the Art were beings who had broken through the limits of sorcerers.
But how had they done it?
Did it have to do with Great Deeds… or with something called a Deed Vessel?
----------------------
A flood of thoughts surged through Allen's mind. Thankfully, before even stepping into the hall, he had already cast a mental barrier to shield his thoughts. Without it, the sheer intensity of his reaction would've surely alerted Tissaia de Vries.
Crack—!
A sharp, brittle sound rang out like shattered glass falling to the floor—coming from Evenson's body.
"Evenson!"
Tissaia's voice thundered like the voice of a god descending from on high, overwhelming and absolute. The violet glow in her eyes gradually shifted to a radiant blend of gold and purple.
"Look into my eyes—now tell me!"
"Who promised you this? Who told you to plot against the witchers of the Wolf School?"
"TELL ME!"
Evenson's neck twisted upward in agony, his bones grinding with a hideous creak. And the instant his gaze met Tissaia's golden-violet pupils—
Time seemed to freeze. The once noisy hall fell deathly silent.
Evenson opened his mouth slowly, dazed, and said: "Truth of All Things… The Truth of All Things Trading Guild ordered me to kill all the witchers!"
.................
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