Was it already the appointed time?
Allen subconsciously called out, "Coming," and immediately got up from the bed.
After finishing the druid lessons last night, Mentor Zebi Ortega had arranged to go together the next day to sort through Lydia's belongings.
According to Mentor Zebi Ortega's exact words—
"Sorry, Allen. I didn't expect Lydia's belongings to be so numerous. There's no way to finish sorting them in just a few days. I'll be leaving tomorrow, so I can only take you to the place and trouble you to sort them out yourself. Is that all right?"
What answer could Allen possibly give? Of course, he was more than happy to accept.
At the same time, he actually found it rather strange.
Logically speaking, Lydia was not a druid native to the Mayena Druid Circle. She was merely a guest staying there by virtue of her elven identity, along with the druids' sympathy and shared roots.
Her relationship with Mentor Zebi Ortega wasn't particularly close—certainly not bad, but no more than that of acquaintances who had heard of one another.
It wasn't strange for the druids to agree.
After all, it was just temporary lodging. The Mayena Druid Circle was vast and hardly short of one or two houses; perhaps they had even harbored the idea of drawing Lydia into the Mayena Druid Circle.
Even if the request hadn't gone through Mentor Zebi Ortega, most other druids probably wouldn't have refused either.
As for why it ended up being Mentor Zebi Ortega in particular, Lydia was likely thinking in a perfectly normal way—of the same elven bloodline, thus more reassuring.
That was all normal.
What wasn't normal was Lydia's behavior.
Just how many belongings would it take for a Great Druid to say they couldn't be sorted even in several days?
Allen himself was also a guest of the Mayena Druid Circle, yet aside from a few materials for maintaining his swords and armor, and one or two bottles of ordinary wine used for entertaining guests, there were no other personal items in his cabin at all.
That was what a normal guest should look like.
Mentor Zebi Ortega's words made it sound as if Lydia had lived in the Mayena Druid Circle for several years and had even intended to settle down there permanently.
Since it had already been very late when class ended yesterday, Allen hadn't asked in detail.
But this was clearly not quite right.
Of course.
For Allen, the more abnormal Lydia's behavior was, the better.
"Rip—"
He quickly pulled on his leather boots, slipped into his leather armor, and at the same time took out from around his neck a strand of amber beads shimmering with a dim violet glow. With a thought—
The cat's-eye amber flashed.
A gentle breeze rose from below, sweeping upward and clearing away all the dust and grime that had accumulated overnight on his clothes and even his skin.
[Name: Pure Witchsilver Amber Pendant]
…
[Function: Stores the novice spell "Cleanse," usable three times per day.]
[Note: A certain great noble of the Northern Continent grew utterly fed up with his granddaughter looking filthy all day long like a wild child, and specially commissioned this necklace from Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization. However, aside from being forced to use it, that particular wild child seems to have never used it at all. (There appear to be some markings on the pendant.)]
This was something Ciri had left him before departing that "dream"—Allen felt it should count as a keepsake.
Since leaving that dream, a long time had passed, and he still hadn't figured out what the markings on the pendant were for.
Ciri had also never contacted him through this amber pendant.
But at the very least, the spell enchanted into the magical pendant was quite practical. A single Cleanse spell saved him the trouble of tidying himself up every morning—especially useful in the wilderness.
Even so, no matter how dirty he got, he had only ever used the Cleanse spell twice in a single day.
One should know that even for a novice spell, enchanting it for three uses per day already demanded extremely high technical skill, and the price would rise severalfold.
Ciri came from the royal court.
Who knew with what mindset her grandmother, Calanthe, had commissioned this magical accessory from Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization?
As the effect of Cleanse ended, Allen had already finished putting on his leather armor.
This series of actions might sound time-consuming, but in reality, from the moment Mentor Zebi Ortega knocked on the door until now, it had likely taken less than ten seconds.
As he walked toward the door, Allen also recalled the chaotic system notifications he had heard upon waking. With a thought, he opened the Witcher Journal.
[Ding, clue discovered: one clue related to the skill "Standard Cavalry Sabre Swordsmanship of the Red Rider." Spend 2000 experience beads to unlock the skill?]
[Ding, clue discovered… Spend 1930 experience beads to unlock the skill?]
[Ding, clue discovered… Spend 1641 experience beads to unlock the skill?]
-----------------------------------
In an instant, a flood of system notifications swept across his vision.
Last night, Allen had only used a single memory crystal of a long-lived being, its efficiency far inferior to that of a sorcerer's memories.
It wasn't because he was lazy—rather, the memory crystal of a long-lived being truly lived up to its name.
A single sorcerer's memory, excluding the meaningless stretches that were skipped, usually let Allen experience at most one or two years of time.
But a memory crystal of a long-lived being—damn it—had kept him inside the memories of an ordinary knight of the Aen Elle Red Rider for at least twenty years.
Allen was only fourteen years old now. Even counting his previous life, he was just forty-four. And yet, in one go, he had spent "most of a lifetime" inside that memory crystal.
A solid, uninterrupted twenty years of time nearly made him forget who he was and where he was when he first woke up.
To be honest, if it had truly been a raw dump of twenty years of memories, he would have gone insane by now.
The fact that he only felt dazed upon waking was likely because either those twenty-plus years consisted purely of practicing the Standard Cavalry Sabre Swordsmanship of the Red Rider, with no other interactions at all—or because the Witcher Journal had special protection that prevented such an overwhelming flood of memories from washing away his original personality.
Or perhaps both.
Allen believed it was definitely both.
Because the memories of long-lived beings were far more immersive than those of sorcerers.
In sorcerers' memories, although he learned and practiced as the "protagonist of the memory," he was ultimately still an observer.
But the memories of long-lived beings were unexpectedly immersive. He could feel everything belonging to the "subject"—even moments of distraction—almost as if he had entered a kind of flow state, where the passage of time was barely perceptible within the memory.
Most of the time, he was the protagonist of the memory.
Only when it ended did the aftereffects suddenly erupt, leaving him disoriented and unfocused.
It was a very strange sensation.
Without the protection of the Witcher Journal, this would have been impossible.
Of course, such an exaggerated length of memory also brought exceptionally outstanding results.
Under normal circumstances, even after gathering multiple clues for a skill, unlocking it would only reduce the cost to about half of the initial system prompt.
In other words, if the first prompt required 2000 experience beads, it would still cost at least 1000 experience beads in the end.
But now—
[Ding, clue discovered: one clue related to the skill "Standard Cavalry Sabre Swordsmanship of the Red Rider." Spend 50 experience beads to unlock the skill?]
Just fifty experience beads—only one-fortieth of the initial cost!
That was equivalent to directly saving 950 experience beads, at the price of just half a night and suffering "a little" hardship. It was pure profit.
Although the Standard Cavalry Sabre Swordsmanship of the Red Rider wasn't the Aen Elle realm-advancement knowledge he actually wanted, it could hardly be called a loss.
As for how to deal with that swordsmanship—
"I still have to learn it," Allen thought to himself.
He already possessed two-handed sword techniques from the School of Wolf and the School of Cat. No matter how strong the Red Rider's sabre swordsmanship was, he didn't lack sword skills, and learning it would also increase his personal level while consuming experience beads.
But this wasn't a question of lack.
In the battle between Ben Ard and the Wild Hunt, although he had remained in the upper hand throughout and even wiped out an entire hundred-man Wild Hunt force in the end—
What he relied on was Beast Roar: Dragon Call, not his strength under normal conditions. He knew very clearly that without Dragon Call, even if he had mounted a Royal griffin, he would absolutely not have been a match for the Wild Hunt.
Moreover, over the past few days, while studying the druidic path, he had also been taking time to try maintaining Beast Roar: Dragon Call, increasing his draconic nature.
[Name: Dragon Call]
…
[Passive Effect: Maintaining the operational state of "Beast Roar: Dragon Call" in daily life can
1. Slowly enhance all attributes.
2. Increase draconic nature.]
[Active Effect: Consume energy to roar, summoning a giant dragon from another world.]
[Note: Guess what draconic nature is?!]
-----------------------------------
Unfortunately, he could clearly feel how strenuous it was. And perhaps because the black dragon from the last time had been severely wounded and had yet to recover after disappearing, he felt no sense at all of being able to once again unleash Beast Roar: Dragon Call—it might even be far from sufficient.
Moreover, this intelligence had already been learned by Eredin, the King of the Wild Hunt. It was entirely possible that even the information about Beast Roar: Forbidden Sky had been exposed through the possession of that Wild Hunt captain named Renakins.
The complete annihilation of this Wild Hunt squad had only happened because they were dealing with Ortolan and had been caught completely off guard.
Allen did not believe that the next time, the Wild Hunt would come without any preparation, allowing Beast Roar: Dragon Call and Beast Roar: Forbidden Sky to achieve such outstanding results again.
Therefore—
He had to find a method that was more practical, more universal, and more targeted.
Learning and researching the Standard Cavalry Sabre Swordsmanship of the Red Rider was clearly such a method—and one that could even be shared with Vesemir, Sol, Vera, and even the members of the Witcher Corps.
It had to be said that although he hadn't managed to capture any Wild Hunt prisoners as originally planned, researching a standardized Wild Hunt skill and body of knowledge like the Standard Cavalry Sabre Swordsmanship of the Red Rider was obviously a better way to deal with the Wild Hunt.
Of course.
Although he could scrape together fifty experience beads right now, there was no rush to unlock it immediately.
"Creak—"
The wooden door opened. Allen instinctively raised a hand to scratch his head, looking like a well-behaved student, and apologized:
"Sorry, Mentor Ortega. I forgot the agreed time."
Zebi Ortega was dressed as usual in a druid's clean yet unkempt old gray robe. His face was covered in wrinkles that, as ever, folded into a kindly and benevolent expression. His eyes narrowed, like an old farmer sitting on autumn ridges watching a bountiful harvest.
Hearing Allen's apology, the corners of his mouth lifted a little more. He waved his hand and said indifferently, "It's fine. I came early—hm?"
Zebi Ortega seemed to sense something. His waving motion froze, and his narrowed eyes suddenly widened.
It was the first time Allen noticed that Mentor Zebi Ortega's pupils were violet—pure, like those of a newborn child.
Zebi Ortega looked Allen up and down. That natural aura—so completely different from the sharpness witchers usually carried, yet perfectly integrated—made the old druid's expression shift between shock and uncertainty.
"You… you broke through the grassland realm in the Sacred Grove?!!"
Not only the grassland—I even broke through the oak realm, and I'm just one step away from entering the banyan realm… Allen thought. On the surface, however, he calmly nodded. "I did break through, so I was a bit late."
He wasn't surprised that Mentor Zebi Ortega had noticed something was off.
Previously, his successful meditation and his breakthroughs in the Sacred Grove—through the grassland and oak realms—had all happened in a single night. By the next day, Zebi Ortega must have noticed something as well, likely assuming it was just successful meditation.
Of course, successful meditation, breaking through the grassland realm, and breaking through the oak realm definitely had different outward manifestations.
But first, Allen's own attributes were already high enough.
Formally becoming a druid might be a huge change for others—something impossible to hide. But for him, concealing his aura was a witcher's instinct. Otherwise, how would witchers deal with monsters with keen senses?
More importantly, what normal person would ever guess that a witcher who had previously struggled even to meditate would suddenly break through three realms at once—the grassland, oak, and aspen realms?
Even now, Zebi Ortega only thought Allen had broken through the grassland and entered the oak realm, and that alone was shocking enough.
"You actually broke through?!!"
Zebi Ortega rare burst into outright astonishment. The gray beard of the old druid trembled as his lips quivered.
How long had it even been? If he remembered correctly—wasn't it just three days?
No, that's not right!
Only two nights!
Zebi Ortega's gaze toward Allen grew ever more amazed, ever kinder—and ever more regretful.
"What a fine seed for a druid… how did he end up being a witcher?" Zebi Ortega thought to himself.
He had always known that Allen's interest in the druidic path was only because he had been saved by Visenna, and that he was merely staying temporarily in the Mayena Druid Circle to learn. In a few days at most, he would leave and return to being a witcher of the School of Wolf.
But this talent…
Such outstanding talent—wasted.
Counting the time spent learning meditation, breaking through two realms in a week was indeed exceptional, but the Mayena Druid Circle still had quite a few druids capable of that.
At the very least, most Great Druids—including himself—had possessed such talent, or even greater.
That was why Zebi Ortega didn't immediately lose his composure, pry at the School of Wolf's foundations, and forcibly pull Allen into the Mayena Druid Circle.
It hadn't reached that point.
But precisely because of this, Zebi Ortega felt even more regret.
If Allen were to focus solely on the druidic path, there would still be a considerable chance of him becoming a Great Druid. But if he continued to divide his attention like this, it would become extremely difficult.
And considering a witcher's daily acts of slaughter—there was essentially no hope at all!
Thinking of this, the old druid looked at the witcher with heartache, as if he were seeing a vigorous oak tree—one that had not grown in fertile soil, but instead clung to cracks in a cliff face, its roots gripping hard stone so tightly that they could not be separated.
His gray beard trembled. He wanted to speak, yet held back; held back, yet wanted to speak.
The muscles on his bark-old face twitched, as if he were having a stroke.
So frightened, Allen hurriedly reached out to steady Zebi Ortega and asked cautiously, "Mentor Zebi Ortega? Are you… all right?"
Zebi Ortega's rough, oak-bark-like hand suddenly grabbed the witcher. Stammering and speaking out of order, he asked: "Al… Allen, have you ever thought about it… thought about…"
"Becoming a druid?"
................
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