Allen was stunned when he heard Vesemir.
He subconsciously stopped and looked at the sword in his hand.
Although it was a training sword for Apprentices, the hilt and guard had no decorative patterns, but the blade had no nicks, and the body was polished to a mirror-like shine.
A good sword, but not a Silver Sword.
Allen thought back.
In the game, when fighting the Drowner, he did use a Silver Sword, but it was automatically switched.
So, he couldn't kill the Drowner with a steel sword?
"Our Apprentice is very confident; he just passed the Grass Trial and dares to challenge a Drowner with a steel sword."
Vesemir said sarcastically, then stated in a deep voice:
"Remember, Apprentice Allen, if you lose, I will make you polish every sword in Kaer Morhen until it shines!"
Before his brain could react, his ears caught the keywords.
Allen subconsciously retorted:
"What if I win?"
Vesemir, hearing the counter-question, was bewildered and murmured, "What if you win?"
He didn't expect this Apprentice to be so bold, not only daring to zone out in his class.
With a monster right in front of him, he still had the courage to provoke him, a Witcher Master.
At this moment, Vesemir even suspected that Allen wasn't intentionally provoking him, but that the Grass Trial decoction had poisoned his brain.
"Yeah! What if he wins?"
Leto, standing beside Vesemir, chimed in gleefully.
"Hahaha, yeah, yeah, Vesemir, what if our Apprentice wins?"
This was the instigation from over a dozen fellow Witchers outside the training ground.
Vesemir was cornered.
His face flushed red, and he pulled out the "steel sword" from his back, roaring at Allen:
"If you win, this sword in my hand is yours!"
As soon as he finished speaking, the training ground erupted.
Leto, standing next to Vesemir, widened his mouth and exclaimed in shock:
"Are you crazy?"
"This is your elsa, a Dwarf Masterpiece worth 17325 oren."
"You even borrowed 3000 oren from me for this Silver Sword and haven't paid it back."
Vesemir's face darkened, and he brought the "steel sword" closer to his eyes.
The bright, clear blade was clearly meticulously cared for by its owner, with an intricately carved hilt and a silvery blade that seemed to cut skin just by looking at it.
Clearly, Vesemir had pulled out the wrong sword.
The steel sword, worth over three hundred oren, was still obediently sheathed on his back.
None of the Apprentices knew what 17325 oren represented; they had never left Kaer Morhen since they could remember.
But the surrounding Witchers knew.
As soon as they heard that number, the training ground erupted.
"17325 oren? I worked my butt off taking commissions this year and only saved 500 oren!"
"That's not bad, this year I not only didn't earn any money, but I also lost 234 oren due to injuries and equipment repairs..."
"As expected of the youngest Witcher Master in nearly a hundred years..."
...
Vesemir's heart was bleeding.
If there were only a few Apprentices, he could, of course, just say he took the wrong one.
But now,
He was hoisted by everyone from the castle spire of Kaer Morhen to the perpetually floating clouds above the Blue Mountains.
On the white clouds, it was even written in cursive: "The youngest Witcher Master in a hundred years."
He couldn't back down.
"He has to win first," Vesemir stubbornly said, "He just went through the Grass Trial, hasn't learned any Signs, and is even using a steel sword against a Drowner."
"If he can win with all that, then what's the harm in giving him this sword?"
The other Witchers didn't take Vesemir's promise seriously either.
As one of the most common monsters, each of them had killed no less than a hundred Drowners.
They naturally knew the difficulty of fighting with only a steel sword.
That Apprentice couldn't possibly win!
In the Apprentice training ground, Allen felt a little uneasy after asking his question.
He had only retorted out of habit.
But as things stood,
From the Witcher Master's livid face, it was clear he wouldn't accept any explanations before Allen lost the battle.
From Vesemir to the Apprentices, and even the onlookers, everyone believed he would lose.
But,
Allen didn't think so.
As he concentrated, his spirit seemed to invade a certain aura around the monster.
In the corner of his vision.
The icon of the Demon Hunting Skill flickered continuously, its color gradually changing from white to red.
Demon Hunting progress: 9%
Webbed claws swiped through the air, heading straight for Allen's face.
The stench of rotten mud wafted over, nauseating.
Allen stared intently at the Drowner's body, stepped back with his right foot, leaned down to dodge the Drowner's Coming right claw, then, following his body's memory, spun around and fiercely slashed at the Drowner's back.
Seeing Allen's fluid attack, Vesemir's displeasure lessened slightly, and he commented to the Apprentices beside him:
"That's right, rotation is the essence of Wolf School swordsmanship. Imagine yourself as a long whip; rotation brings speed and power."
"Allen's movements are very standard, but unfortunately..."
The Apprentice who had just woken up didn't hear the rest, rubbed his eyes, and asked:
"Unfortunately what?"
Vesemir glanced at the Apprentice but ignored him.
However, the Apprentices didn't need Vesemir's answer at this point.
The sharp steel sword, carrying the power of the rotation, instantly felt like it was cutting oiled hard leather when it struck the Drowner's back, leaving a shallow scratch before gliding up into the sky along the monster's smooth back.
"The feel of this sword is very strange," Allen thought.
He felt the blade had indeed cut through something, not the monster's skin, but something invisible to the naked eye, something that felt like gel when cut.
"It's Chaos Magic."
As if knowing what Allen was thinking, Vesemir's voice came from behind him.
"Chaos Magic protects all creatures favored by It; only silver, which symbolizes order, can bypass this protection."
Immediately after,
Vesemir's tone softened a little, and he continued:
"Given your proficient swordsmanship, you can switch to a Silver Sword before fighting again."
"What about the bet?" This was Witcher Leto.
"Nonsense, of course there's no bet."
The Witcher Master rolled his eyes, glaring at Leto in exasperation.
"I want to try again," Allen replied.
Vesemir said nothing.
The surrounding Witchers also stopped their noisy discussions.
After a moment, some even left the training ground with a hint of disappointment.
Allen didn't see any of this.
He was staring at the Drowner's blue body slowly getting up.
However, Allen could imagine what the onlookers were thinking, nothing more than greed, overestimating oneself...
Indeed, under normal circumstances, he should have given up.
If the attack didn't break through the defense and he had to rely on brute force, it would be hard to say whether the monster would die of exhaustion first or Allen would.
But the key was, Allen's situation was not normal.
On the surface, that last blow not only caused little damage but also made Allen, who had put all his strength into it, almost lose his balance.
But in reality,
Demon Hunting progress: 63%
"Go, Allen!"
The sleepyhead who had been sleeping behind Allen earlier shouted loudly at him.
His name was Hughs, two years younger than Allen, and his only friend in Kaer Morhen.
Allen just nodded, saying nothing.
Because the Drowner was pouncing again.
Instead of retreating, Allen advanced, striding forward, and quickly slashed again, still without breaking through the defense.
However.
"Ding!"
Demon Hunting 100%
Time instantly froze at this moment; everything around them turned into a still painting.
In the painting, the Drowner's whites of its eyes were densely streaked with blood, and yellow saliva clung in threads to its bared fangs.
A red line suddenly appeared in the center.
A strong intuition guided Allen to cut along this line.
So,
The sharp blade, like a child's paintbrush, followed the red line, making a gentle, straight stroke on this painting.
The Drowner's neck just happened to appear at the end of the red line at this moment.
It was as if it knew this painting lacked a certain pigment to be complete, and so it gladly offered itself.
"Pfft"
The painting moved, and black, murky blood sprayed from between the Drowner's body and head.
"Bang"
Allen's exhausted body fell onto the headless corpse.
At the same time, a mechanical voice sounded in his ear.
"Ding"
Monster "Drowner" subjugated!
Reward settlement:...
"Allen!" Hughs shouted anxiously.
"Vesemir! Quick!"
Before Witcher Leto could remind him, Vesemir rushed forward.
Then, he stopped about half a meter from Allen.
Looking at Allen slowly getting up, and then at the Drowner's headless body, Vesemir was somewhat incredulous:
"My Apprentice... actually won."