If Only You Were My Child

"Greater Griffin? What Greater Griffin?" Kut frowned.

Yorl excitedly raised his head, feeling he had found a glimmer of hope. "The people stationed in the village saw that in the direction the two mercenaries... no... the direction the witchers left, a Greater Griffin took flight from the forest..."

"Wait!" Kut jumped up from his seat, interrupting, "You said you saw Greater Griffin?"

"Yes, Lord Kut. Many people saw it; the location is in the forest not far from the village." Yorl swallowed hard, organizing his thoughts. "Those people must be witchers, there's no mistake, they went to deal with the Great Lion..."

"What color were the horses those two witchers were riding?" Kut interrupted Yorl's rambling explanation again.

"What color is the horse?" Yorl paused, his expression faltering.

What a strange question!

They searched the village early that day and hid in the inn and other villagers' houses, thus missing the moment when the Greater Griffin landed.

After exchanging Karn and deep thought for a while, he hesitantly said:

"It seems... it seems like two dark horses..."

Are you sure?

Yorl and Karn exchanged a puzzled look, wondering why the focus had shifted from the Witcher hunting the Greater Griffin to the unrelated color of the horse's coat.

However, they weren't really sure, since they were all focused on the people on horseback. It was dusk, and it was quite difficult to distinguish and remember the colors of black horses, brown horses, and gray horses in just a few seconds.

Karn cautiously asked, "I... I'll go down and ask? Our people are all in the manor..."

"Go now!" Kut shouted.

Karn quickly ran out of the room, leaving Yorl somewhat uneasy in the tense atmosphere.

He was particularly struck by how quickly and strangely complex Kuhn's expression changed, revealing not only anger but also astonishment, anticipation, and even a sense of having narrowly escaped death.

The flickering, dim candlelight cast a chilling shadow on his face.

If he weren't someone who made a living from this, he wouldn't have been sure he could read those emotions from Kuhn's face.

It's just the color of the two horses, is it really that important?

Yorl was curious.

Karn knew it would take a while to call for help. The silence in the room made his heart race uncomfortably. He hesitated for a second, then cautiously asked:

"Lord Kut, is the color of the horse important?"

"Important?" Kut looked up, laughing angrily. "It concerns your life, my future, and even the future of all Ard..."

Do you think it's important or not?

"Huh?" Yorl opened his mouth wide, momentarily stunned.

Seeing this, Kut shook his head and said nothing more, pacing anxiously around the room.

The air was stifling on a summer night, and the flickering candlelight cast people's shadows, making one even more anxious.

Deep down, he didn't actually believe that Demavend II's delusions would come true.

It had been almost a month since the Greater Griffin attacked Vengerberg, and in that month he had reviewed countless records and files on hunting Greater Griffin.

In six hundred years, there were a total of 473 Greater Griffin, and not one of them was ever tamed by humans.

But compared to his own exile to the front lines, the king's forced abandonment of hatred and dignity to seek peace, and the inevitable revenge and punitive expedition that Kedwen would launch once he recovered, he could only pray that the goddess of fate would show him a little mercy at this moment, just a little.

After pacing around the soft carpet a couple more times, Kut suddenly remembered something and asked:

"By the way, why did the nine people suddenly become two? Have you investigated this matter?"

Yorl immediately snapped out of his reverie and said seriously, "The innkeeper said that yesterday afternoon, two people—a man and a woman—came and invited them to Vengerberg, and these seven young people haven't informed the other two Witchers yet..."

"Hmm?" Kut stopped, frowning. "Seven sword-wielding mercenaries entering Vengerberg at this hour? Haven't they informed their companions yet?"

"Yes." Yorl leaned closer and whispered, "There's definitely something wrong here, and there are signs of a large-scale battle on the road from the village to Vengerberg. After inspection, there was strong magic involved..."

Before he could finish speaking, hurried footsteps suddenly came from outside the door.

"Dark horses...dark horses... Lord Kuhn, there are two dark horses." Karn ran in, panting.

"Are you sure?" Kut immediately stepped forward, his eyes gleaming, to confirm once again.

"Confirmed!" Karn nodded vigorously. "Nearly half the people are sure it's the dark horse. When they entered the village, the two witchers led the horse in slowly. They couldn't have made a mistake."

"Great!" Kut excitedly slapped his right fist against his palm and strode outside.

But after taking only a few steps, he suddenly stopped, paced back and forth a few times, and muttered to himself, "Wait until tomorrow, I'll report again tomorrow. I hope the Greater Griffin won't come tomorrow... no... that beast definitely won't come tomorrow..."

And so it went on for a long time.

Kut suddenly remembered the signs of battle.

He turned to the two men standing there trembling with fear and instructed Yorl, "Find out the source of the magical traces as soon as possible. I need to know who dares to act so presumptuously at this time."

"Yes, Lord Kut!" Yorl quickly replied.

"Don't make any more mistakes this time, understand?"

Kuhn spoke calmly, but Karn and Yorl shivered simultaneously under his cold, warning gaze, and solemnly assured him.

"No way!"

"Alright," Kuhn waved his hand, "Go and search."

Karn and Yorl bowed and walked toward the door, but after a few steps they heard Kuhn's voice again.

"Also, make sure you know this is important: do not leak it without my orders!"

"Yes, Lord Kuhn."

The two left, and the door was gently closed.

After pacing around the room a few more times, Kuhn went to the window.

Outside the window, countless stars twinkled, surrounding the new moon.

"The Witcher... the Witcher..."

"Even an insignificant marginal figure on the stage can one day influence the overall situation..." Kuhn sighed softly.

——

Temple of Melitele.

The familiar black carriage stopped in front of the stone statue. The soft glow of the fire in the braziers on either side of the gate illuminated a hunched figure leaning on a cane.

"Is that the Old Duke?" From afar, Ailin recognized the figure, but he was still somewhat unsure.

Compared to a little over a month ago, the Old Duke's once upright figure now looks much older.

"Da da da~"

Hearing footsteps, the figure with her back to the stone statue immediately turned around. "Ianna, there's news about the School of the Wolf... um... behind you is... um! Ailin? What are you doing here?"

The Old Duke's solemn expression crumbled when he saw Ailin behind Ianna in the distance, leaving only astonishment... no... perhaps it should be called surprise.

Ailin smiled, took two steps closer, and was about to greet him.

Ianna suddenly slowed down, her hand behind her back subtly squeezing his left hand, and spoke first:

"Don't say that we at the Temple of Melitele don't care about Arland anymore. Although the matter of the School of the Wolf is still unresolved, I've already called Ailin over for you."

The Old Duke opened his mouth, but before he could speak...

Ianna interrupted him again, pulling Ailin in front of her and praising him:

"Your knighthood was truly well-deserved. I merely mentioned the current situation in Arland in my letter, and your knights from Arland arrived without a word, faster than my carrier pigeons..."

Um?

Is this talking about me?

Didn't I come here to break the curse?

Ailin's eyes widened as she turned to look at Ianna in surprise.

Ianna gripped his thin, bony arm and pressed it firmly, then secretly winked at him, her mouth still moving.

"He just told me that he won't go back until he deals with those ghouls that have taken advantage of the situation... Oh, and besides himself, Ailin also persuaded Master Vesemir to bring seven young witchers with him..."

"Seven Witchers!" The Old Duke and Arthur, the Knight Commander of the Guard Knight of Arland, who had just walked over, exclaimed at the same time.

The Old Duke's hunched back straightened instantly.

Although they didn't know exactly how many Witchers the School of the Wolf had, everyone knew how high the death rate was in the Witcher Trials. On average, each Witcher School only had thirty or forty Witchers. Even if the School of the Wolf had more, how many more could they have?

Including the two Witcher Master, Ailin and Vesemir Ailin, it seems... no... he must have brought all the Witchers who were staying at the lair with him.

This is a huge favor!

The Old Duke instinctively exchanged a glance with Arthur, then took two steps forward, leaning on his cane, and patted Ailin's shoulder forcefully, his eyes burning with fervor.

"Excellent! Truly worthy of being the Blue Death of Arland!"

"If we don't give you the knighthood, are we going to give it to those good-for-nothings who spend all day lying on women's bellies?"

"Don't you think so, Arthur?"

"Of course!" Arthur said with reverence and gratitude. "Lord Ailin is the person I have ever met who best embodies the five virtues of a knight. Lord Mason's choice is as always, and undoubtedly correct."

Ailin opened her mouth, unsure of what to say, and looked at Ianna in astonishment.

Ianna just chuckled and gave him a playful wink.

"Cough cough~" Ailin coughed twice, forcibly using the control of the Witcher over his body to suppress the surge of shame that rose to his cheeks.

He glanced at the rarely smiling Old Duke and changed the subject:

"Duke Mason, I apologize for the matter of the school's relocation..."

"It's alright!" The Old Duke waved his withered right hand. "Arland only needs you as a knight. I will discuss the relocation of the School of the Wolf with that old stubborn Soyer again."

Chief... Old stubborn...

The image of the chief, who was not young but at most just entering middle age, immediately flashed into Ailin's mind. Compared to the Old Duke's face, which was full of the wrinkles of time, it was somewhat strange.

But considering his age, that oddity disappears.

Yes.

The chiefs are all people who have lived for hundreds of years, and the Old Duke is at most in his sixties or seventies.

The matter of the migration of schools of thought can be summarized in a few words.

The Old Duke gazed at Ailin with admiration for a few more times, then suddenly slammed his cane on the ground with a thud.

"Although Ailin is one of our own, Arland has never been one to let its own people suffer losses."

"Two Oren for a Water Ghost, five Oren for Ghoul, fifty Orens for Rotfiend, five hundred for Giant Ghoul, and the heads of other monsters and large monsters will be priced separately. We must not let our knights lose face in front of our companions who have come from afar!"

Ailin was startled when he heard this.

The market price for a Water Ghost is 0.5 Oren, and it is said that it dropped by 0.1 Oren in the second half of the year due to the abundance of Water Ghosts.

Ghoul are also common monsters, and their price is around one Oren. However, Rotfiend and Giant Ghoul are all several times more expensive than the market price.

"Too many, too many!"

The premium was too high, Ailin was really embarrassed to accept it, after all, they hadn't come specifically to address Arland's predicament.

The Old Duke waved his hand again, interrupting him:

"What's the point of keeping the money? Instead of letting those brave warriors who went to the front lines to fight bloody battles eat and drink their fill, are we leaving it for weak-kneed, brainless good-for-nothings?"

Weak legs and no brains...

Ailin felt that the Old Duke was implying something.

"Lord Mason, Young Master Kaelan was merely misled by slander," Arthur said with an awkward smile to Ailin, before advising the Old Duke.

"Hmph~"

The Old Duke sneered, "A few brats who only know how to grope women have instigated them to dare to defy their father's decisions and lower the prestige of the royal family."

"Isn't this just being weak-kneed and brainless?"

"I only regret that I listened to that woman and didn't take him with me when I went to war, letting him mingle with women and end up like this..."

"Cough cough~" Arthur coughed repeatedly, giving a signal with his eyes.

The Old Duke then noticed that Ianna and Nannick's eyes were somewhat unfriendly.

"On a happy occasion, let's not talk about that rebellious son." The Old Duke abruptly changed the subject. "No need to persuade him, this is the amount of the reward."

Ailin thought for a moment and then stopped refusing. Instead, he glanced at Arthur, pondered for a few seconds, and said:

"We're not familiar with the terrain around Arland. Could you send a few more squads of the Monster Hunter Army to guide us?"

The Old Duke paused for a moment, exchanged a glance with Arthur, and then burst into hearty laughter:

"Alright, alright, I'll have Sala select the most elite soldiers; they won't hold you back."

"I'm even a little jealous of Sala for being able to fight alongside Ailin again," Arthur said with a smile and a shake of his head. "He'll be so excited he won't be able to sleep tonight when he hears this news."

"Then let him know tomorrow morning," the Old Duke smiled again.

Business is done.

The Old Duke, Arthur, and Ailin talked for a while longer about the progress of the restoration of Arland over the past month.

Ailin did indeed have a special feeling for this city that even he himself could not explain.

Perhaps it was because the first two cities he visited after descending the mountain, Ben Ade and Vengerberg, left such a bad impression on him; or perhaps it was because of his knighthood, his title of "Ailin of Arland," or even because of May Festival...

Who knows?

However, perhaps because they were both genuinely interested in Arland, they did have a very pleasant conversation.

The Old Duke had lost his initial seriousness and coldness, and would occasionally burst into curses in front of them, acting like a stubborn old child.

However, all good things must come to an end, and as night deepened, the conversation drew to a close.

After Arthur finished speaking, the temple entrance suddenly fell silent.

Only the brazier in front of the Meritellie statue, echoing the chirping of summer insects and occasionally making a "bibo bibo" sound, made the place seem even more tranquil.

However, Ailin noticed that the Old Duke's gaze remained fixed on his face for some reason.

He was about to speak.

"I wish you were my child."

The Old Duke stared blankly at Ailin, then suddenly sighed, "What kind of parents could be so heartless as to abandon such an outstanding child and let him become a witcher?"

Ailin was taken aback.

"Mason!" Ianna's expression suddenly turned cold.

"It's late, you should go home!"