Too Weak!

"Why?"

The Witcher Master stopped in his tracks upon hearing this, turning to look at Ailin in astonishment.

The young witcher glanced into the inn:

"Master Vesemir, regardless of whether the one who commissioned the School of the Cat to attack last night was the one we suspect..."

"The Hundred Fruit Garden ... no... including Ban Ad, a large area around here is no longer safe for us..."

"So, just like yesterday during the day, the two of us went out to search for clues. It's too dangerous for Huus to take on jobs in town on their own."

"Bringing them along would make us too conspicuous and difficult to hide."

"After all, this request comes from... the couple they're looking for might also be the one they're searching for..."

"Therefore, going alone is probably the best choice."

Ailin spoke sincerely, looking directly into the pair of dark golden Cat Eyes beneath the Black Wide-brimmed Hat.

Vesemir glanced at Ailin, then turned his head to look inside the door.

Huus, Bont, and Fred were engrossed in their lunch and didn't notice the two people at the door.

Although Bont's injuries were almost healed under the effect of "Veridian Sigh", there was still a noticeable stiffness in his movements of raising his hand and lifting his wrist.

then.

Vesemir lowered his head in thought, then sighed after a moment, and advised in a hesitant tone:

"That commission is too risky. The country... and yet another powerful figure has shown us his hostility..."

He paused for a moment, then hesitated and said:

"How about we just skip this request, or wait until after the Apprentice Combat Tournament is over, send Huus and the others back, and then I'll come back to help..."

"It's too late," Ailin shook his head and interrupted. "The big shots are also taking action. If we hesitate even for a moment, we may never be able to complete the commission."

"And this commission..."

Ailin emphasized solemnly:

"It is very important to us."

"I have a feeling that the opportunity to change the fate of the school of thought lies hidden within this."

Seeing that the Witcher Master was still hesitating, Ailin smiled gently, carefully considered his words, and reassured him:

"Don't worry, Master Vesemir, I'm just following the clues I found yesterday. With my current strength, there won't be any problems."

"If I really run into any trouble, I still have some magical items that Lady Vesemir gave me!"

The Crimson Fox's magical items?

Indeed, since Lady Vesemir gave Ailin the "Veridian Sigh" to drink like water, how could she not give him some life-saving items before leaving?

Upon hearing this, the Witcher Master's eyes lit up, but then dimmed again.

Even without the props given by Lady Vesemir, Ailin was unlikely to have run into trouble.

after all.

In terms of swordsmanship, signs, and physical abilities, he has far surpassed that of ordinary witchers.

Aside from some knowledge about monsters, search and exploration skills, and interpersonal skills, it's more than enough to travel alone.

only...

But Ailin is only fourteen years old!

At such a young age, he might have to face a behemoth like King Kedwen all by himself...

Thinking of this, Vesemir felt a deep sense of powerlessness and frustration.

At such an age, he should have been under the protection of the Ancient Sea Fortress and growing up slowly under his guidance.

But.

Potions, Sword Oil, Essence Fluid, the Witcher Company...

Now, he and his school of thought seem like stubborn cowards, hiding under the tender wings of a fourteen-year-old...

What a disgrace!

Vesemir thought to himself.

He then adjusted his mindset, forcing a stiff smile, and nodded in agreement with the young witcher's suggestion:

"Ailin, you must be careful."

"No matter how important this commission is to Kaer Morhen, no matter how much it could change the fate of the School of the Wolf, it is not as important as your safety."

Hearing this, Ailin felt a warmth in his heart and nodded vigorously, saying:

"Don't worry, Master Vesemir."

"There will definitely be no problem."

He finished speaking.

Ailin and Vesemir entered the inn.

Two servings of stew, white bread, and ale were already placed on the empty spot on the wooden table next to Huus.

So the two witchers nodded to Huus in greeting and then sat down to enjoy their meal.

Soon, the witchers finished their lunch.

"Huh?"

"Ailin, where are you going?"

Huus saw Ailin get up from the dining table and walk towards the stables, and asked in confusion.

The young witcher turned around upon hearing this and said with a smile:

"I have a commission to complete this afternoon."

Is there a request?

Huus glanced suspiciously at the Witcher Master, whose expression remained unchanged, as if he had known about this all along.

If you have a commission to do, why not bring Vesemir along?

Besides, the School of the Cat's witchers just attacked yesterday, so how could Vesemir allow Ailin to act alone?

Thinking of this, Huus suddenly froze, and subconsciously turned his head to look at Bont and Fred, who were also completely unaware and looked utterly bewildered.

Then he stared blankly at Ailin, who was saying goodbye to them.

He seemed to know why.

The reason Vesemir wasn't brought along was because the Witcher Master needed to protect him, Bont, Fred.

Despite having just been attacked, Ailin insisted on completing the quest, and Vesemir actually agreed.

That's natural... that's natural because what Ailin is going to do is very important.

It was so important that he had to do it, even if it meant that Ailin might be in danger, Vesemir had no choice but to let go.

Huus, distracted, and the other witchers saw Ailin off from the inn, watching him mount his black horse and ride off into the mountains against the chill of early spring.

The solitary figure gradually receded into the distance, then disappeared around a corner.

Huus looked at the deserted end of the street and suddenly said:

"Master Vesemir, are we too weak?"

The sentence was abrupt and incoherent, but the Witcher Master understood it.

He turned his head and stared blankly at Huus in the distance.

This moment.

He suddenly realized that this apprentice, who had once dozed off in class and fled in panic in front of water ghosts, was unlike a witcher in every way.

It seems... things are different now.

At that moment, Huus turned around and met Vesemir's gaze.

He didn't flinch as usual, nor did he avoid eye contact; instead, he stared intently at the Witcher Master.

"Master Vesemir, are we too weak?" he asked again.

On the side.

Fred had his head down, seemingly lost in thought.

Bont instinctively touched the wound on his wrist that had just healed and was still a little numb and itchy, his expression very disappointed.

As Vesemir gazed at the scene before him, his perfunctory words of comfort slipped out, but then he abruptly changed his mind.

"Yes."

He said earnestly.

"Yes, it is precisely because you are too weak that I must stay here to protect you."

He continued with a serious expression.

"Yes, it's precisely because you are so weak, so weak that Ailin and I don't even dare to tell you what's happening right now."

Upon hearing this, the three young witchers almost simultaneously lowered their heads in shame.

After a few seconds of pause, the Witcher Master glanced at the children, who were all only fourteen or fifteen years old, sighed inwardly, and then continued seriously:

"Remember this day, my apprentices."

"Remember that back view, and this feeling of shame, young Witcher."

"The fundamental reason why you failed to walk alongside him and fight alongside him is because..."

"You guys are too weak!"

A clearing in the woods near Ban Ade.

"Oh. So Brett is dead?" The bald man shook his head expressionlessly. "What a pity, his swordsmanship was the best among all the Witchers of the School of the Cat."

Although the bald man said it was a pity, Guksat could not sense the slightest emotion in his expression and tone.

Only indifference and gloom.

The bald man's only response was the single word "Oh," after Guksat reported the results of last night's attack on the School of the Wolf.

As for Fredika's death, the bald man didn't utter a single word of comment.

"Treyis, there's a problem with this commission," Guksat said.

"I know, there's definitely something wrong with this commission. Didn't we already know that before the operation?" The bald man tilted his head and asked in confusion.

Guksat paused for a moment.

Yes, this mission was a blatant scheme by the king; he wanted to incite conflict between the two schools of witchers.

But Guksat still felt a chill in his heart looking at the indifferent tone and attitude of the leader of the School of the Cat.

There are not many Witchers from the School of the Cat to begin with.

Including the apprentices who are currently in training, there are only about forty people.

There were only fifteen official Witchers... yes... now there are only thirteen left.

Because of the king's intelligence, the School of the Cat lost a full one-seventh of its manpower.

Judging from the strength of the Witchers, given Brett and Fredika's skills, the School has lost at least a quarter of its fighting force.

However... however, as the leader of the School of the Cat, Treyis merely expressed a cold expression of regret.

"That's true, but the king has deceived us."

"How could he not even know the strength of the School of the Wolf witchers who entered Ban Ade openly?"

"This is different from being hostile to the School of the Wolf afterwards; we..."

The bald man raised his hand to interrupt Guksat, a hint of laziness showing in his cloudy yellow Cat Eyes.

He said casually:

"500 Oren!"

"What?" Guksat was taken aback.

"500 Oren for an ordinary apprentice, my dear Guksat, doesn't that price already indicate that this mission is no simple matter?"

"But..."

"There are no buts, I already told you, Guksat ..."

The bald man looked intently at the cat-faction demon hunter, whose face was full of innocent confusion, and shook his head, saying:

"There isn't enough food in this world. For wild cats to avoid starving, their enemies can even be their own kind."

Guksat was stunned.

Can an enemy be one of their own kind?

Doesn't this "same kind" refer to the Witchers of the School of the Wolf?

Judging from Tresius's tone, it's... it's...

He suddenly widened his eyes, which had shrunk to vertical pupils, and looked incredulously at the companion, mentor, and leader he had always trusted and respected the most.

He felt that Tresius was such a stranger at this moment.

It was so indifferent, as if it really was a heartless and cruel wildcat.

When these cruel creatures become hungry, they will not hesitate to eat their own newborn offspring.

"Tresius, do you know what you're saying?" Guksat couldn't help but raise his voice.

"Of course I know, dear Guksat, of course I know."

The bald man adjusted the sword pouch on his body, paused for a moment, and then said with unusual seriousness:

"My apprentice, my naive best friend, the School of the Cat is doomed."

"What?" Guksat looked around.

Since being "politely" escorted out of Ban Aard by the wizards yesterday, the School of the Cat has found a foothold in this forest.

As usual, the witchers would find an open space, direct their apprentices to dig a small pit, and then watch them fight each other in the pit with their longswords.

This kind of "real sword duel" is the favorite sport of the cat-faction witchers. Except for Guksat and Treyis, everyone else gathers in the "arena".

Of course, besides being a form of entertainment, this is also the final trial for the School of the Cat's Witcher apprentices.

therefore.

As long as there are caravans, what does it matter if there are no hotels, no stone or wooden houses?

Every forest can become their home.

They can pass on their skills anywhere.

How could such School of the Cat suddenly disappear?

"Or rather, it's almost over."

Raising his hand to interrupt Guksat's question, the bald man continued:

"Do you think the king just wants to incite hatred between the School of the Cat and the School of the Wolf, and weaken or even eliminate the School of the Wolf?"

Isn't that so?

Guksat paused for a moment, about to ask a question in return.

The bald man turned his head to look into the depths of the forest and muttered to himself:

"No, he wants to wipe out the School of the Wolf first, then the School of the Cat, completely eliminating them without leaving a trace."

"Not just us, all schools of witchers will gradually disappear!"

"Why?"

Guksat's pupils dilated violently upon hearing this.

"Fewer monsters, more demon hunters, law and order are in disarray, and people are becoming inhuman..."

"With so many reasons, who knows which one it is?"

"But I know—the Witcher is finished!"

The bald man sighed.

"Where did you hear this news... that the Witcher is finished?" Guksat asked quickly.

"I am the leader of the School of the Cat. As the school that interacts most closely with humans, I naturally have my own channels."

The bald man chuckled, glossing over the question, and then said sarcastically:

"Those old fogies who are building their nests in the mountain castles are probably still dreaming of reviving their school of thought and rebuilding the Witcher Conclave!"

In a short time, I received so much information that it was overwhelming.

Guksat was still finding it hard to accept at first.

The bald man wasn't in a hurry. He turned his head to look at the noisy apprentice duel in the distance, his eyes filled with complex emotions that even he couldn't explain.

"If that's the case, why should we accept the king's commission?"

"Shouldn't we unite with other schools of thought?"

"And why do you seem completely indifferent to the comrades who died because of the king's false intelligence? This shouldn't be happening now..."

Coming to his senses, Guksat, still shaken, kept asking questions.

"A coalition? Are you serious? Which school of thought would ally with the infamous School of the Cat?"

"Wolf? Bear? Or griffin?"

Guksat paused for a moment upon hearing this, then saw the bald man shake his head and continue:

"Besides, even if we unite, what then?"

"There are probably no more than five hundred witchers in the world, and the armies of secular kings and nobles number in the tens of thousands!"

"As for those scum who died..."

The bald man turned and gave the horrified Cat Hunter a deep look, then said coldly:

"Guksat, I did that on purpose..."