The White Iris Lance-Whom Should It Charge At?

"Ah?"

Ailin paused for a moment, then abruptly turned his head to look at the Old Duke.

The Old Duke, however, looked at the busy Meritellie priests below the city walls with deep, indifferent eyes, as if he had never said those words.

However, the sudden burst of noisy conversation around them proved that this statement was not just the Witcher's imagination.

"Lord Mason... is this an intention to summon witchers to be stationed permanently in Arland?"

"It's not impossible. I heard my distant nephew from the Guard Knight talk about it yesterday. If it weren't for this witcher named Ailin, everyone in Arland would have died..."

"What? Really? I don't believe it. Lady Agatha just told me a few days ago that we were spared that day only because she did her best to hold up a magical shield to protect the inner city..."

"You listen to Agatha? Just days May Festival, she was complaining to me in Lady Betty's salon about how the Duke Mason was making a fuss, making her, this elegant, seasoned Sorceress, act like a delivery girl, hauling some utterly indecent things to Vizima. She also thought nothing would happen on May Festival. Thanks to High Priest Ianna's prophecy, otherwise..."

"Indeed, it is all thanks to the High Priest who praised the Goddess Meritellie..."

"In praise of the Goddess Meritellie..."

"Ladies, be quiet. Witchers have keen senses; they can hear you no matter how softly you speak. Besides, your voices are so clear that even I can hear you perfectly well."

Finally, an old male voice spoke, and the restless noise stopped.

At this moment.

The Old Duke suddenly turned his head and stared at the somewhat bewildered witcher:

"I know that the School of the Wolf has recently encountered some... difficulties."

"But as long as you are willing to move to Arland, no one and no force will dare to make things difficult for you under the protection of the Temeria royal family."

The Old Duke spoke with a strong voice and domineering manner.

But no one present doubted the truth of this statement.

Although Temeria has just gone through war, plague and rebellion, no one dares to deny that it is still the strongest country in the entire Northern Continent.

in other words.

It was because of these wars, plagues, and rebellions that the kingdoms of the Northern Continent came to see the strength and ambition of Temeria.

She is not only one of the three oldest human nations on this continent.

It is also the headquarters of the most powerful Knights of the Flaming Rose in the Northern Continent and the home of many knights, with first-class military strength.

Even Falga, who had slaughtered the entire Northern Kingdoms, could only suffer defeat under the kingdom's iron cavalry and ultimately died at the hands of the King of Temeria.

Even the Oren, the currency minted by Temeria itself, can be considered one of the few universal currencies in the Northern Continent, and can be used in almost all countries.

therefore.

Temeria's military, economic, and political strength is self-evident.

Ailin didn't doubt this at all.

Temeria certainly has the strength to protect the School of the Wolf, and more than enough.

in addition.

There is indeed a threat of monsters in Arland, creating a large demand for monster hunters.

After all, so many people died on May Festival, and it was all an accidental and unjust death.

Even with the priests of Meritellie praying for a proper burial, the probability of becoming a ghostly creature like a demon is not low.

Ailin was just a little confused as to why the Old Duke had asked him that question.

He was just an ordinary witcher who had only been Witcher Master of the School of the Wolf for half a year.

What qualifications do you have to replace the School Head and agree to this condition?

It's getting cold, do you want to put a layer of clothing on me?

Ailin glanced at Vesemir, who was standing to the side with his head down, deep in thought, and after carefully choosing his words, said:

"This matter will probably need to be decided by Grandmaster Soyer after I return to Kaer Morhen..."

The Old Duke seemed to have expected this, and after nodding slightly, he said nothing more.

"Tap tap tap~"

The sound of orderly footsteps came from below the city.

"It has begun," the Old Duke said softly.

Ailin suppressed the lingering doubts in his heart and stood beside the Old Duke, following the sound of footsteps.

A group of warriors clad in black armor walked out of the city gate in neat rows of four.

That was the Old Duke's Monster Hunter Army.

A large group of people with sorrowful faces, each holding a white flower, followed behind.

Although their movements were scattered and not as orderly as the black-armored warriors.

But the solemn and sorrowful atmosphere was even more pronounced.

After leaving the city gate, they naturally dispersed to both sides of the main road, watching the black-armored knights receive the large urn from the temple priests.

"Two thousand seven hundred and sixty people..."

"Two thousand seven hundred and sixty people died in Arland on May Festival..."

The Old Duke stared down, seemingly talking to himself.

But the next second...

The Witcher felt a gaze sweep over him.

"Witcher, do you know how many citizens are registered in Arland?"

Ailin did not reply.

Having grown accustomed to the Old Duke's speaking style, he knew that this was not actually a question.

However, the Witcher can roughly guess a number.

"Eight thousand five hundred and seventy-four..." the Old Duke said.

Yes.

Even as one of the major cities in the entire Northern Continent, Arland has a population of less than ten thousand.

Therefore, the death toll May Festival exceeded one-third of the city's total population.

certainly.

Many people travel from afar to celebrate May Festival, and in medieval cities like The Witcher World, the number of people on record often differs from the actual number.

Even so.

On May Festival, the total population of Arland will not exceed ten thousand.

Imagine what it would be like if a city's population suddenly decreased by a quarter...

"The Wild Hunt is truly sinful!" the Witcher thought.

He glanced at the expressionless Old Duke.

To put it bluntly, the realities are harsh: taxes, conscription, urban prosperity...

In the near-medieval world of Witcher, almost everyone in Arland is considered the property of Duke Mason.

Therefore, he suffered heavy losses during this May Festival.

After uttering a number out of the blue, the Old Duke fell silent again.

The Witcher turned his gaze back to the city below.

The sky was overcast, and the morning breeze was cool.

The black-armored knights below the city, in pairs, carried large urns along the main road.

Ordinary citizens attending the funeral followed on both sides, holding white flowers, and many of them wiped their eyes from time to time.

Time heals all wounds.

But four days is far from enough.

"Rest in peace, eternal rest..."

"The Mother of All Things will protect you in Her care..."

"Through His love and mercy..."

"The maiden will guide you safely to the land of harvest, the place of abundance..."

"Your mother hums a soothing lullaby to you as you drift off to sleep..."

"The old woman carries a lantern to watch over your descendants and relatives, so that they will not be lost in darkness..."

"Sleep peacefully in the light, rest in peace..."

"All the troubles are now over..."

It's unclear when it started, but the priests following behind the black-armored soldiers began to hum sacred and solemn songs.

People on both sides of the road also spoke up softly in response.

Again and again, and again.

Accompanied by sobs, she concealed her wailing.

The sensitive noblewomen on the city wall also quietly took out silk cloths to wipe away their tears.

Mary couldn't bear to look away and gazed at the grass on one side.

Lyra kept her eyes tightly closed, Vesemir sighed softly.

Vesemir looked up at the gray, dark clouds in the sky, lost in thought.

In the end.

Singing could be heard from the city behind us, as if every household was humming a sad ballad.

May the departed forget their troubles, pain, and sorrow in another world.

Yet they also hope that they can remember the names of their loved ones and never forget them.

Amidst this song, the soldiers in black armor arrived at their destination.

They put down the large urn, took the shovels they had prepared earlier from the open space next to them, and began digging on the side not far from the main road.

Huh...

Ailin exclaimed in surprise.

That place seemed somewhat familiar.

After a moment's thought, he suddenly remembered...

Isn't that the place where the demon tide appeared on the night of the May Festival?

He was puzzled at the time as to why the demon would appear in that place.

The Witcher had a guess in his mind.

really.

As time went by, the black-armored soldiers carefully and quickly dug out a container that was similar in shape to the large urn behind them and carried it onto the wagon that had been parked there for a while.

While the witcher was momentarily stunned, the coachman raised his whip and urged the horses to speed up.

We don't know where to transport these containers.

After the black-armored soldiers carefully carried all the large urns into the pit, they began to fill it with soil...

"... Sleep peacefully in the light, rest in peace..."

"All the troubles are now over..."

The humming of the hymn suddenly grew louder, and although the lyrics sang of rest, it seemed to be pleading with the deceased in the urn to wait a little longer...

Wait a minute...

Do not rush into the embrace of Mother of All Things, do not rush to follow the light steps of the maiden, do not rush to hear the mother humming the eternal lullaby...

Let's take another look...

Let's take another look at the living who are still reluctant to part with him...

"Ah--"

"My little Pal, don't go—"

Suddenly, a heart-wrenching scream rang out from the crowd. A middle-aged woman with gray hair rushed out of the crowd but was stopped by the priests who were prepared.

Then he was pulled back by the crowd, who were also weeping.

However, the middle-aged woman was still struggling, her voice hoarse as she screamed:

"... Let me through... My little Pal was only seven years old... How could he die at this time... Please let me through..."

People around, including many priests, tried to dissuade him.

But the middle-aged woman seemed to have gone mad, constantly ignoring questions and desperately trying to break free from the crowd's grasp with her disheveled hair.

The black-armored knights, who were digging to bury the body, stopped their work without realizing it.

"Waaah—"

A suppressed sob suddenly came from beside me.

The witcher looked in the direction of the sound and saw the little priest with her head down, her hands covering her face tightly, but large tears kept seeping out from between her fingers and falling to the ground.

Vesemir glanced at Ailin and Mary, sighed softly, and hugged her.

The young priestess struggled for a few seconds, but seeing that she couldn't break free, she gripped her skirt tightly with both hands and wept silently.

In the crowd.

A woman moved her feet slightly, but then stopped herself.

Ailin sighed, turning his gaze back to look down at the city, when he suddenly noticed the Old Duke, who was always expressionless and calm.

He clenched his fists tightly, so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

For some reason, seeing this scene, Ailin suddenly felt a little guilty about her recent thoughts of "property" and "heavy losses".

The singing stopped.

The middle-aged woman in the distance was still struggling, and even some people in the crowd were beginning to stir.

Just as the Witcher was pondering how the priestess of Meritellie should resolve this incident...

Sudden...

It's raining.

A light drizzle fell from the sky.

It seemed that at the very moment the raindrops gently fell on the middle-aged woman's face, her body suddenly stiffened.

He looked up at the sky with a blank stare in his eyes.

A few seconds later, he collapsed to the ground, feeling utterly powerless.

The next moment.

"Ah—ah—"

The woman covered her face and wailed loudly.

The commotion in the crowd suddenly stopped, replaced by cries of anguish, as if the rain had washed away all the sorrow that had accumulated over the past four days.

At this moment, no one could distinguish between tears and rain.

The funeral continued.

"Bang~ Bang~"

Dark brown soil was pounded onto the large earthenware urn.

The deceased children, wives, husbands, mothers, fathers... were buried deep in the soil.

"Rest in peace, eternal rest..."

"The Mother of All Things will protect you in Her care..."

"Through His love and mercy..."

"The maiden will guide you safely to the land of harvest, the place of abundance..."

"Your mother hums a soothing lullaby to you as you drift off to sleep..."

"The old woman carries a lantern to watch over your descendants and relatives, so that they will not be lost in darkness..."

"Sleep peacefully in the light, rest in peace..."

"All the troubles are now over..."

The funeral is over.

At some point, sacred and solemn songs began to be hummed again among the crowd.

He scattered the small white flowers in his hand, one by one, on that nameless cemetery.

"Lord Mason, the ceremony is over, and the rain is getting heavier. Let's find some shelter!" A servant came over from the city wall to remind him.

But when the Old Duke heard this, he simply raised his hand to interrupt.

Then, standing in the rain, I watched the people below the city singing funeral songs despite the wind and rain, and the nameless graves that were gradually turning pure white.

Behind him, the nobles, gradually getting soaked by the rain, looked at each other, but no one dared to speak at this moment.

a long time.

After the crowd below the city had finished offering bouquets, he bowed down to say his last words to the deceased before slowly returning to his place.

On the city gate tower, the nobles turned their gazes toward the young nobles on the other side of the Old Duke.

Seeing this, the young nobleman hesitated for several seconds before turning to the side and whispering:

"Father..."

Before the address could even be finished, a "thump" was heard.

The Old Duke slammed his cane on the ground, interrupting the young nobleman.

The surrounding whispers immediately disappeared.

"The Witcher..." The Old Duke suddenly turned around and looked directly into Ailin's eyes.

The Witcher could see that seemingly calm, deep brown pupils were burning with an inextinguishable rage.

"I want revenge, revenge at all costs..."

"So tell me, Witcher..."

"The white iris lance, to whom should it charge?!"