"Father's" Favorite Child

The chief paused for a moment, then glanced at the map.

Ailin noticed that his gaze paused for a moment at the southern border of Temeria.

But in the blink of an eye, the chief looked away and shook his head:

"It's not the right time yet. The only place suitable for the development of the School of the Wolf right now is Kaer Morhen."

Then, without waiting for Ailin to ask any further questions, he ended the conversation, saying:

"That concludes the discussion on the relocation of the school of thought. I will write to Arland to explain and will also arrange for witchers to go there to exorcise the monsters."

"Although we cannot transfer our schools of thought there, we can maintain cooperation, and keeping a distance is more beneficial to the relationship between the two sides."

Ailin nodded upon hearing this.

He felt that the chief's arrangement might be the result that Duke Mason really wanted.

Otherwise, if they were truly sincerely inviting a force like the School of the Wolf to join, they wouldn't have sent the invitation in such an informal way as through a Witcher.

It's just a pity.

If they migrate, with Arland in their way, the School of the Wolf could have at least a few more years to develop before Duke Mason's death.

With these few years of peace and tranquility, the various skills extracted from the Witcher's Handbook were popularized throughout the Witcher Company. Then, they searched everywhere for the Essence Fluid of monsters or Purification Spirit to enhance the attributes of their members.

Perhaps it won't be long before the School of the Wolf no longer has to survive in the cracks and act according to others' wishes.

But thinking about it, the chief analyst's analysis, while somewhat extreme for some reason, wasn't wrong.

Given the lifespan of a Witcher, human promises are indeed unreliable.

Duke Mason is getting on in years, and how much longer he can live is still unknown.

If he were to die too early—before the school of thought had a chance to take root—all the privileges would likely be for naught.

Moreover, even with the Duke Mason's support, it would be difficult to avoid political infighting and friction after the relocation.

Furthermore, the fact that the school of thought is located too close to densely populated areas makes it difficult to conceal the rapid increase in the strength of the Monster Hunting Legion.

It has both advantages and disadvantages.

certainly.

The main reason Ailin compromised was because of one thing...

Soyer is the true leader of the School of the Wolf.

How the school of thought should develop in the future is not up to Ailin to decide.

It's already quite good that I was able to explain the reasons for my rejection to him one by one, and it even makes me feel a little flattered.

Thinking like that.

Another voice echoed in the Witcher's mind, lingering for a long time. "Want to be the chief?"

"Are you planning to go down the mountain again this year?" The chief gently interrupted Ailin's inexplicable reverie.

"No!" Looking at the chief's slightly tired face, he quickly said, feeling a little guilty, "For the next six months, I plan to dedicate myself to improving the strength of the Witcher Company..."

"Very well," the chief nodded. "The establishment of the Witcher Company has indeed been very effective in enhancing the strength of the school, and it is worth spending more time on it."

Having said all that needed to be said, Ailin said a few more words after school and then prepared to leave.

However, before leaving, he suddenly remembered something else.

"By the way, Chief, about the two male wizards that Lady Vesemir brought back two months ago..."

"Macaque is very cooperative, answering all your questions," the chief shook his head, "But Thomas Moru is very stubborn and tight-lipped. It's not easy to get what you're looking for out of him."

really...

Or should we just kill Thomas Maul?

Since killing a Witcher will unlock the Witcher's memories, the Warlock should do the same.

I just don't know if I can find the location of the lab where he completed the Second Mutation...

The Witcher pondered for a moment, then asked:

Where are they?

The chief remained silent for a while, seemingly hesitant for some reason.

After several seconds, he looked at Ailin's face and advised:

"You shouldn't get involved in interrogations."

"Vesemir is very experienced in this area, and she has already contacted a master interrogator, so we should have results soon."

The chief seemed to want him to stay out of the interrogation.

However, since Vesemir had already made arrangements, Ailin did not insist any further.

Before leaving, out of curiosity, he glanced again at the old map on the long table.

On the map, at the southern border of Temeria, there is a place Dudulak Dodurak that has a unique note...

It was written in a cursive script that was so illegible that it was almost unrecognizable.

After leaving the chief's residence, the demon hunter finally realized the meaning of the note in his mind—

The Cave of a Thousand Monsters!

"Bang!"

The wooden door closed.

Soyer's gaze lingered on the pattern on the door for a long time, lost in thought.

"Da da da~"

A woman draped in a fiery red robe emerged from the inner room amidst languid footsteps.

"Your child is very ambitious, just like you were back then." Soyer didn't turn around; he patted the large, heavy black oak high-backed chair beside him. "The burning desire in his eyes is almost overflowing, impossible to hide..."

"He wants my current position..."

"That's your child too." The woman rolled her eyes and sat down in the wicker chair that Ailin had sat in. "Besides, with his abilities, he's more than capable of sitting in this shabby chair of yours."

Upon hearing this, Soyer paused for a moment, then turned his head helplessly to look at the woman:

"You're still so ruthless."

"But it's still a little short," Soyer paused, gazing intently at the old, worn-out high-backed chair, "He still needs some help..."

"Clean the seats, add armrests, stabilize the legs, and ideally, embroider some patterns and carve some textures to show glory and majesty..."

"Only in this way can he sit still and for a long time."

"Then let's help him," the woman said softly. "Our Child of Miracle needs this chair."

"I will." The man nodded.

After a long silence, looking at the wrinkles that had appeared on the man's face after a month apart, the woman wanted to say something, but didn't know what to say.

The child he watched grow up betrayed him, tried to destroy everything he had, and then died in front of him while he stood by and watched.

It's completely unrecognizable.

She couldn't even imagine how much pain Ianna would feel if she treated her like that.

Fortunately, Ianna didn't.

But Ianna... is dying too.

At this moment.

"Call--"

"Wei, I'm a little tired," the man sighed deeply, looking out the window obscured by thick dark clouds. "Once our child is settled, let's go back to Toussaint together."

"Henriette left me a vineyard in the Sansreto Valley, very close to our old home."

"The grapes there have produced wines of such high quality as Eiffel, Fiorano, Pomerano, and your favorite, East of the East."

"We can plant grapevines in the spring, prune and remove side shoots in the summer, harvest in the fall, and then enjoy our homemade wine in front of the fireplace with its crackling firewood in the winter..."

"Soyer..." the woman couldn't help but call out softly.

But the man seemed not to hear, or perhaps he was still lost in some memory or fantasy, and continued talking:

"I still remember the little tricks my father taught me: don't water too much, and adjust the watering according to the weather..."

"Your father, Viscount Ivan, often boasted that if he could manage a vineyard well, he could govern a country..."

"Soyer ..." the woman's voice rose a little.

"By the way, you also know magic. We'll definitely be able to brew a wine that's even more fragrant and delicious than the one our father made. We might even win a prize at the Toussaint winemaking competition in the spring..."

"Soyer!" The woman walked up to the man and raised her voice.

The man then suddenly fell silent.

He paused for a moment before his hazy eyes finally focused on the woman's face.

"Sorry!" he said, "I was lost in thought."

"Do you regret taking this path?" the woman asked.

The man remained silent.

He stared blankly at everything in the room, recalling the places he had fought, the monsters he had killed, and the people he had saved from the beginning until now...

His right hand, gripping the back of the chair, was tightly clenched around the dark chair body, the veins on the back of his hand bulging.

"I don't know... Vesemir ... I don't know..."

"The path to glory that I long to embark on seems to have never existed."

"Hundreds of years ago, humans were killed by monsters; hundreds of years later, humans are killed by their own kind..."

"Everything seems to have changed, yet it also seems to have remained the same."

"Whether or not there are witchers, humans will always die. Dying at the hands of monsters may be considered an honor, but what does it mean to die at the hands of one's own kind?"

"Those who are saved from the claws and fangs of monsters end up killing far more of their own kind than any large monster, not even a powerful dragon..."

"What's the point of whether the Witcher exists or not?"

The man looked at the woman with longing, as if trying to find an answer from her.

He wanted to know if everything he had done, abandoning his family and enduring hardship, had been meaningful.

But the woman couldn't give him an answer, nor was she willing to give him a perfunctory response.

Or rather, she knew that the man already had the answer in his heart.

The woman could only embrace him with intense self-reproach, trying to warm her boy, her man, the father of her child with her body heat, and then whisper, like a mother humming a lullaby:

"It's okay, you still have us."

"Once everything is over, let's go back to Toussaint together, grow grapes, make wine, and compete together..."

"Us..."

Let's go home together!

Castle Hall.

"What? Haxor was raised by the Chief?" Ailin's mouth dropped open in surprise, and bread crumbs fell all over the table.

After leaving the chief's residence, Ailin found it increasingly strange.

Although Soyer only asked him at the beginning if he wanted to be the chief, he never mentioned it again.

But throughout the conversation, both his appearance and his mental state were so dejected that he seemed like a completely different person.

Furthermore, considering that Vesemir's mental state was not quite right this morning.

Feeling there must be a connection between the two, Ailin went downstairs and saw the Witcher Master having breakfast in the castle hall. He immediately went over and was surprised to receive such an amazing answer.

"Shh!" Vesemir quickly scolded, "Keep your voice down!"

Ailin looked around. There were only the two of them in the entire castle hall, so there was no need to be quiet.

However, since he was there to hear gossip, he didn't say anything to refute it.

"It can't be said that he raised them," Vesemir seemed to find this inappropriate and changed his words, "To be precise, the Chief saved Haxor and his mother and then helped them consolidate their position of power..."

As Ailin listened to Vesemir's rambling explanation of the bond between the chief and Haxor, he felt a pang of sympathy.

No wonder the chief is in such a bad mood.

Recalling the original story and the game, Ciri and Geralt had a mentor-father relationship.

It seems that Chieftain Soyer, who had no children back then, was raising Haxor as his own child by helping him hunt monsters in the country and finding people to assist him.

Converted to the correct value.

It's almost as if Ciri betrayed Geralt, not only wanting to kill Geralt himself, but also his close associates Vesemir, Eskel, and Lambert...

But in the end, Geralt watched helplessly as Ciri died before his eyes, refusing to help her...

Damn it!

That fat pig Haxor doesn't deserve to be compared to Ciri- Ra!

Ptooey!

Having mentally dismissed the inappropriate analogy and the potentially offensive implications, Ailin directly cursed aloud:

"Haxor is a real beast!"

Vesemir spat on the ground and agreed:

"Yeah! They're even worse than those scumbags from the School of the Cat!"

OK.

Even more despicable than the School of the Cat, this is indeed the dirtiest thing Vesemir could say.

The Witcher world does have a saying that death is a great loss, but an ungrateful piece of trash is clearly not worthy of such a saying.

So Ailin and Vesemir spent the whole morning in the castle hall hurling insults until they finally stopped, their mouths dry, just before lunchtime.

Vesemir cursed, his face flushed with excitement.

Obviously.

Vesemir was in low spirits this morning because he saw the chief's dejected appearance.

Moreover, judging from Vesemir's genuine reaction just now, praising Chieftain Soyer to the skies, it's clear that...

Perhaps for him.

Compared to his biological parents, Chieftain Soyer, the Witcher who taught him swordsmanship, signs, and hunting skills without reservation, and who inspired him to embark on the path of glory with his noble character and personality, was the father he truly recognized in his heart.

This made Ailin somewhat envious of Vesemir and Haxor.

Who wouldn't want a "father" like Vesemir described—a man of saintly strength, high moral character, superb skills, high social status, and incredibly patient temperament?

It's a pity.

He has been abandoned in both his past and present lives.

Moreover, although Vesemir was quite good, Ailin was already thirty years old when he transmigrated.

Although he respected Vesemir's character, he was more like a righteous older brother to his peers than an elder.

after all.

Although he was somewhat envious, he didn't necessarily want to have a father figure; he was already past that age.

However, on the other hand...

Why would Chieftain Soyer not nurture his "godson" who idolizes him so much, but instead ask him if he wants to be chief?

Thinking of this, Ailin glanced with pity at Vesemir, who was beaming and still hurling insults at Haxor and praising the chief with all sorts of words, and thought to himself:

"Looks like you're not 'Dad's' favorite child either..."