Allen still did not know.
The Grandmaster of the Griffin School, Erland of Larvik, not only held a positive attitude toward his idea of rebuilding the Witcher Order, but had already begun paving the way for its reconstruction from this very moment.
At this time, he was sitting in Sol's room, watching the Grandmaster of the School of the Wolf flip through Monster Hunting Notes page by page.
Candlelight flickered across the oak table.
Sol was completely absorbed.
It was not only the preface written by Erland of Larvik. As Sol turned the pages one by one in rapt attention, what he was reading should have been the stories of the Witcher Order era that Erland had experienced—no—more precisely, the era of the Witcher Order that Erland and Sol had experienced together.
After a long while, just as Allen was about to lose patience, there was a soft snap as Sol gently closed the parchment book.
"Erland wrote this with great care," Sol said after a moment of silence, unable to conceal the emotion in his voice. "Many things I had already forgotten—yet he recorded them all."
"Allen—"
Sol looked at him. "Erland truly thinks highly of you."
Allen felt somewhat moved upon hearing this. "I didn't expect Grandmaster Erland to be so—well—so approachable—"
Who could have imagined that before he even voiced his ambition of rebuilding the Witcher Order, it would be exposed by the Grandmaster of the Griffin School?
And this could no longer even be called merely smooth.
Allen even felt as though he had returned to the time just after passing the Trial of the Mountain, when he still did not know his own origins.
Back then, Vera and Sol had also almost unconditionally satisfied all his needs.
One had taught him alchemy, ritual studies, and all manner of extraordinary knowledge without reservation, supplied unlimited rare alchemical materials, and even had "senior sister" Mary assist him.
The other had practically "sold out the nation," permitting him to establish within the School of the Wolf another centralized armed organization—the Witcher Corps—and had sent only Aristo to supervise it.
Well, at least at the time, he thought Aristo had been sent to supervise.
But looking back now, Aristo, as vice commander, had been the one truly carrying the burden.
When the Witcher Corps was first established, Aristo could be used to silence the other witcher masters and ordinary witchers of the School of the Wolf.
And during the entire following year, Allen had barely stayed at Kaer Morhen for more than a few days. From training apprentices and arranging trials to scheduling patrols and guards, all the tedious affairs of the Witcher Corps had been handled by Aristo alone.
Who said Sol didn't understand politics? His arrangement had been flawless, without leaving a trace.
Allen had truly been too naïve back then—or rather, his understanding of the witcher profession had been too shallow.
A profession that traveled across the Northern Continent for nearly three hundred out of three hundred sixty-five days a year, taking contracts—how could it establish a centralized armed organization?
When most members of the organization hardly saw him for the majority of the year and were almost entirely self-reliant, how could loyalty be cultivated, or discipline maintained?
If Sol had been even slightly displeased with him at the time, he could have planted countless traps here.
Fortunately, Sol had not.
On the contrary, he had arranged nearly everything for Allen in the Witcher Corps—new witcher blood from the Trial of the Grasses, a diligent practical administrator, and training grounds, dormitories, and food that, while not perfect, were more than sufficient—
And yes, free of charge.
What was that equivalent to?
It was equivalent to the owner of a top-tier football club like Real Madrid or Barcelona, upon learning that his child was interested in founding a new club, sending the best coaches to help build the new club's organizational structure, lending or even gifting a league-standard stadium for free, and fully sharing the top club's elite youth training resources.
It was equivalent to transferring the very best resources of a top club—equivalent to "selling out the nation"!
Allen had once been someone who got plucked into the witcher world by a cup of milk tea. Now he had become the biggest beneficiary of connections within the School of the Wolf.
Fate truly was unfathomable.
Returning to the point.
The feeling Erland now gave him was much like that of Sol and Vera back then.
After all, to put it nicely, Allen's ambition was to rebuild the Witcher Order—but bluntly speaking, wasn't it simply using the School of the Wolf to annex the Griffin School?
Unless one were a parent, no one would easily agree to that.
Of course, he did not suspect Erland of Larvik of having ulterior motives.
On one hand, whether in the original works and game background of his previous life, or in this world, based on Erland of Larvik's conduct, you could call him foolish or rigid—but you could never question his character.
On the other hand, Allen could more or less guess at Erland's state of mind.
In the original story, Erland of Larvik had fallen into complete despair toward humanity after an avalanche destroyed the Griffin School.
Now, although Kaer Seren remained intact, greed still lay with those humans and mages, and the hostility from sorcerers and nobles was undeniable. Even if Erland had not completely despaired of humanity, he was not far from it.
Just like Sol—once betrayed, his convictions had collapsed at once.
An idealist's faith was generally difficult to shake, but once shaken, it was hard to restore.
Erland most likely had already developed thoughts of giving up on the Griffin School.
"Do not let down Erland's goodwill," Sol nodded. "He—is a good man."
Allen had not expected Sol to suddenly hand Erland a "good man card." Somewhat surprised, he said, "I thought your relationship with Grandmaster Erland wasn't good, because—because—"
"Because of his civil war with Arnaghad?" Sol finished.
Allen nodded.
Sol shifted his gaze toward the window. In that direction should have been the Griffin School's stronghold.
"I once truly hated them," Sol said softly, his voice extremely light, almost ethereal, as if piercing through the years. "I hated Arnaghad for turning his blade against his companions, staining the honor of the Order. I hated Erland of Larvik for his radical, exacting pursuit of justice that worsened the Order's division. He was the role model and aspiration of everyone in the Order—he should have done better—
"I hated them for many years."
"It was only more than a decade later, after Arnaghad established the School of the Bear at Haern Caduch, and Erland left in shame with his followers to found the Griffin School at Kaer Seren, leaving only a handful of confused witchers and apprentices barely clinging to life at Castle Morgraig, that I still did not forgive them—in fact, I hated them even more."
"Every night as I lay in bed, the sobbing mountain winds would carry the curses, screams, and accusations of companions who had died in the civil war into the nightmares of all the survivors."
"During the day, I even wished I could rush to Haern Caduch and Kaer Seren, capture those two traitors, and torture them with the cruelest punishments of Toussaint, make them wish for death."
Sol shook his head and gave a bitter smile. "I had even planned it all out—using the condition of permanently renouncing my inheritance rights to bribe my nephew into sending troops to attack Haern Caduch, and offering my estate in exchange for Redania's 'Stormheart' to strike and destroy Kaer Seren. They owed me a favor—"
As expected of a duke's legitimate son—even after becoming a witcher, his connections were extensive, Allen thought. Then he asked, "But you didn't. Why?"
Sol fell silent for a few seconds and sighed. "Perhaps because Vera happened to arrive and persuaded me to leave Castle Morgraig. Or perhaps—because of weakness—"
Allen did not know how to respond.
Fortunately, Sol did not seem to expect one. He turned back to gaze out into the deep night beyond the window, as if through the unchanging darkness of centuries he could see those nights two hundred years ago when hatred had overwhelmed him and sleep would not come.
"Later, after I found Kaer Morhen and established the School of the Wolf, it took many more years before I finally let go of that hatred," Sol said.
Allen asked curiously, "Because of what?"
"There was no particular reason, no so-called turning point," Sol shook his head. "Perhaps because of the complicated affairs of the School of the Wolf. Or perhaps—I simply came to understand."
"It is not so easy to coordinate the affairs of an extraordinary organization and the relationships among its members."
"Erland had already done well enough."
"His position in the Order was high because he always took the lead whenever danger arose, and treated every companion equally in daily life—even those apprentices who were unlikely to pass the trials."
"But in the end—
"He was only a witcher. After Alzur and Cosimo Malaspina abandoned us, merely maintaining the surface unity of the Order was already no easy task."
"I remember clearly—before Arnaghad attacked Rhys and seized Rhys's contract, he had already clashed with Erland several times over contracts.
"It's just that Erland endured it each time. For the sake of the Order's unity, he even voluntarily ceded considerable resources and connections, devoting most of his energy to the Order's affairs."
"For several years, I didn't even see him at the Order's banquets."
"Perhaps Erland simply hadn't expected Arnaghad's appetite to be so great. Or perhaps he hadn't anticipated how quickly contracts would shrink after Alzur and Cosimo Malaspina left."
"That was why, when Arnaghad finally struck at a companion—with the clear intent to kill Rhys—Erland became so furious."
"As for Arnaghad—"
Sol paused slightly and shook his head.
"Although he was the fuse, Arnaghad himself was in fact a tragedy."
He turned his head to look at Allen. "You should know that the Trial of the Grasses not only alters the body of the one undergoing it—it also affects a witcher's temperament."
"I've heard of it," Allen nodded. "An unstable formula can make the subject emotionally extreme, like the witchers of the School of the Cat. It can also cause emotional detachment, like the School of the Bear."
Sol nodded. "That's right. But what you may not know is that, aside from the School of the Cat—whose decoctions came from improper sources—the Trial decoctions of every other witcher order all contained, to varying degrees, components that weakened emotions."
"To face bloodshed and violence calmly—and to keep fighting day after day, for decades—if emotions weren't dulled, a witcher would go mad sooner or later."
Allen actually knew this.
Just like soldiers returning from brutal battlefields—many of them develop PTSD. This was not unique to modern warfare; it had existed throughout history.
To remain indifferent in the face of killing and blood was itself an exceedingly rare talent.
"Therefore, emotional detachment was not seen as a negative effect in the eyes of Alzur and Cosimo Malaspina. What the Chapter of the Gift and the Art wanted were weapons without feelings."
"After they developed a decoction with that effect, they administered an enormous dose during Arnaghad's Trial—so large that as the potion was absorbed into his body, he gradually not only became indifferent to death and bloodshed, but also slowly lost normal human emotions and desires altogether."
"So he had no sense of taste, no sexual desire, dulled tactile sensation—"
"The more time passed, the stronger he became. Before the Order's civil war, Arnaghad was acknowledged as the strongest witcher, perhaps even the strongest warrior on the Northern Continent."
"But the stronger he became, the colder he grew—more like a castrated beast. Even killing no longer interested him."
"As a witcher, taking contracts and killing was less a preference than a mechanical action etched into his mind—a way to prove that he still existed—"
Hearing Sol's description of Arnaghad, Allen could not help but shiver.
He seemed to see a machine made of flesh and blood.
Killing not out of hatred or desire, but merely as a program.
"For such a beast, what can you truly hate him for?" Sol shook his head. "He was just a pitiful man whose life had been destroyed by Alzur and Cosimo Malaspina."
Allen fell silent.
From Sol's words, he felt a profound sense of helplessness.
He could even guess that Sol must once have hated Alzur and Cosimo Malaspina as well—for abandoning them so abruptly.
But Alzur and Cosimo Malaspina had long since died.
Their deaths had come even before the founding of the School of the Wolf.
And one cannot take revenge on the dead.
The room remained quiet for a long time. For a while, the only sounds were the faint crackling of torches and the footsteps of sentries patrolling the outpost, drifting in through the open window.
"I'm sorry—you had to hear these dispiriting old stories."
Sol suddenly turned back, apologetic.
"It's nothing," Allen shook his head. "I'm actually quite interested in the affairs of the Witcher Order era. I just never heard you speak of them."
Sol shook his head and did not dwell further on the matter. Instead, he waved the Monster Hunting Notes in his hand, changing the subject.
"You were asking earlier whether the School of the Wolf has anything similar to this parchment?"
"That's right!" At the mention of something serious, Allen nodded quickly and asked expectantly, "Have you written any such legacy for the School of the Wolf?"
Sol shook his head. "No. Erland always liked writing things himself. He started doing so back in the days of the Witcher Order. But the legacy of the School of the Wolf has always been handled by the school's mage."
"Vera?"
"No. The previous school mage of the School of the Wolf left many years ago."
Neither the School of the Bear nor the Griffin School had taken the Order's mages with them in the end—so the School of the Wolf had benefited from that.
"So there's nothing similar? It doesn't have to be a parchment. Something else would work too—as long as it's related to the witchers' legacy. Preferably written or made by you personally."
Allen was still struggling. Judging by the standard of Monster Hunting Notes, he felt that something compiled by a school mage likely would not qualify as the basis for triggering a main quest. After all, the first requirement of "Song of the White Griffin's Soul" was to obtain the recognition of a school's Grandmaster.
Moreover, he had already read quite a few books in the library and had not triggered any quest.
"Probably—no, not if we're using Monster Hunting Notes as the standard," Sol noticed Allen's unusual insistence and asked tentatively, "Is this—very important to you?"
Allen nodded firmly. "Very important."
Sol glanced at the parchment in his hand, thought for a moment, and then asked uncertainly: "Then how about—I start writing one now?"
........