Absurd

"My memory is excellent; the soil here is different from the shape in the spell."

As he said this, Miguel still plunged his hand into the dark soil.

There are many spells that can excavate soil, and even the rough handling of soil using only Divine Power can be done very meticulously with their level of ability.

But Miguel seemed worried that the fluctuations of the spell would allow an inanimate object to escape, or that using an ability befitting his wizard status would make his suspicions come true.

Using only his hands, he turned the soil with extreme care and meticulousness, just like an ordinary farmer.

Damp soil, rotting insect carcasses, and even live earthworms poking their heads out, their bodies twisting and slippery...

But they just couldn't find what they were looking for.

Splat!

The earthworm's body was crushed, exploding into dark red, fleshy bits of meat.

Then he continued digging with his hands.

Vilgefortz tried to help, but Miguel refused, so he could only watch from the sidelines.

Watching his finger cut by the stone, fine beads of blood seeping into the soil, he dug a pit half a meter deep and a meter wide before stopping, calmly summoning various ritual materials.

Water Divination, Fire Divination, Viscera Divination...

Despite employing a variety of divination methods, none of them proved effective.

In the Water Divination, their own faces were reflected; in the Viscera Divination, there was only a blurry, meaningless mass of flesh and blood; and in the Fire Divination... if Vilgefortz hadn't been watching closely, the flames would have almost burned Miguel's already tattered robes.

In the silence, calm gradually ignited a bone-chilling despair.

Miguel then looked at Vilgefortz lifelessly.

Vilgefortz did not speak, but nodded solemnly and waved his staff.

The Stars of Ilar once again construct a hazy white illusion.

The Wild Hunt arrived, buried black stones, and then left.

At one point, the illusion did indeed shift suddenly, as if the moment in between had been stolen.

Miguel did not question Vilgefortz about why the illusions suddenly changed inexplicably.

The fact that none of the divinations revealed a result is itself a result.

"There must have been someone before us." Miguel stared at the illusion, hoping to make out a figure within it. "He is special, fate is concealing him... and he didn't just discover the treasure before us..."

He looked up, seemingly recalling something...

[...Dh'oine... How could you kill her... How dare you kill her...]

"There were signs all along," Miguel sighed, his mood seemingly much better now. "Our Ben Ade has actually been used and suffered such heavy losses..."

"Lord Miguel, do you believe someone killed the other Wild Hunt before us and then framed us?" Vilgefortz asked calmly.

Miguel nodded.

He stared silently at the pit on the ground for a long time.

He suddenly pointed to the illusion of the half-buried pit, tilting his head to stare at Vilgefortz:

Have you ever encountered this situation before?

Good Girl, let me sleep a little longer...

"Bah!"

So aggressive...

No, Good Girl wouldn't call me that. So who is she threatening, and who is she wary of?

My body was falling, and I felt like I was floating on air.

"Ailin!"

It was Vesemir, and his tone was much more hurried than usual.

So... it was Vesemir who was confronting the Greater Griffin... why?

"Bah!"

"The... the Greater Griffin," Vesemir's voice was filled with fear, both Greater Griffin and trying to reassure Greater Griffin, yet his tone betrayed his anxiety, "Where is Ailin? Where is he? Didn't he come back with you?"

"Viser..." The voice came from the right. Ailin wanted to raise his right hand to greet him, but he couldn't feel where his body was at all.

The soul seemed to have drifted away from the body.

Fortunately, Vesemir seemed to have heard something.

"Ailin! Ailin! Is that you? What's wrong?" he shouted anxiously, his voice rapidly approaching.

"Bah!"

The Greater Griffin is issuing a warning.

"Whoosh—Pfft—"

Amid the howling wind, Ailin could hear the sound of heavy objects crashing against tree trunks, and Vesemir's cries of pain.

"Good... Good Girl ..." After the cry of pain, Vesemir was still trying to get closer.

"Bah! Bah!"

The Greater Griffin's voice grew increasingly violent and aggressive.

It was only then that Ailin realized what she should do.

[Good Girl...]

He reassured himself.

Vesemir is a friend.

"Huh?"

Yes, his name is Vesemir, and he is a trustworthy person.

The sound of the wings flapping violently finally stopped.

"A good... Good Girl?" Vesemir asked cautiously.

Ailin suddenly felt her body lighten as she fell into a cold embrace.

It was not only cold, but also very uncomfortable.

Those were the steel studs on the wrist guards, the small leather pouch on the chest, and the rivets on the shoulder and chest protectors.

All the Wolf School Master Set have this design.

However, Ailin never knew that a Witcher's embrace was so uncomfortable and so unsuitable for hugging.

Or perhaps witchers are never meant to have anyone close to them, that they are merely killing machines hunting monsters for humanity, wanderers always roaming the wilderness...

"Hiss~"

Ailin cried out softly in pain.

The steel nail in Vesemir's left wrist pressed against his lower back, causing the wound to radiate excruciating pain as if an electric current were flowing through it.

Cold sweat immediately poured down my face.

"What's wrong, Ailin?!"

Vesemir's voice was urgent, even shrill, and filled with panic.

Ailin wanted to speak, but he was too weak to say anything.

[I'm back.]

Only then did he realize that he should have already returned to the Temple of Melitele... no... it should be the back of Mahakam Mountain outside the temple...

Why is Vesemir here?

Before he could think it through, he vaguely felt himself being carried and moved quickly. The whistling wind in the forest carried the unique fragrance of the temple, which calmed his mind.

Gradually, a gentle warmth seeped into his body with the wind, making Ailin feel so comfortable that he drifted off into a drowsy state.

"Ailin!"

A pair of strong, large hands grabbed him and shook him incessantly. Footsteps came in rapid succession, like thunder, and indistinct voices roared like a waterfall.

He snorted a few times in dissatisfaction.

"Ailin! Wake up!!" Rough hands gently patted his face. "Wake up! Don't sleep! Can you hear me?"

There were many voices mixed together, making it noisy and chaotic.

Ailin suddenly realized that the uncomfortable embrace had been replaced by a hard, smooth treatment table, but it wasn't cold; instead, it was comfortably warm.

"By Meritellie! What's going on! I saw him this morning, all lively and energetic, on his date with Lyra ..."

"Yes! At noon, he ate three baskets of bread in the cafeteria, which really scared the pregnant women..."

"Speaking of dating, what about Lyra? She..."

Before the words had even finished...

A series of hurried footsteps approached.

"Ah!"

After the terrified screams came even more panicked footsteps.

Immediately afterwards, Ailin was suddenly enveloped in a soft embrace.

He was enveloped in the fresh scent of eucalyptus, the smell of a famous healing ointment from the Temple of Melitele.

"Ailin! Ailin! Are you alright?" the little priest called out, grabbing his hand.

Suddenly, a warm current, similar to the one on the way there, flowed in, making Ailin feel much more comfortable.

He felt a surge of energy returning to his body and was about to speak to comfort Lyra.

"If you keep panicking like this, something bad will happen to him..." Ianna's serious voice came from outside.

"High Priest..."

"High Priest..."

Those in charge of important tasks in the room all greeted him.

"By Meritellie!" Ianna said sarcastically, "Your School of the Wolf witchers are quite capable! It's only been half a day!"

"He's only fourteen years old. Don't you School of the Wolf have anyone else?"

"It's my fault, High Priest Ianna," Vesemir said, his voice filled with self-reproach.

"Cough cough~"

Ailin wanted to defend Vesemir, but all he could manage were weak coughs.

"Ailin!!!"

Exclamations of surprise rang out.

"Alright, you know it has nothing to do with Vesemir, so just lie down and relax!" Ianna gently patted Ailin's hand and sat down in front of the treatment bed.

"Get out of the way, Lyra. You're not suited to participate in this treatment."

The priestess grew anxious. "Why? In the past..."

"In the past what?" Ianna interrupted rudely, "In the past were you always this impatient and out of control?"

The sound of women giggling could be heard from the surrounding area.

The soft, fragrant embrace quietly left, and Ailin struggled to open her eyes, only to see a hazy and fragmented shadow.

"Lie down properly!" Ianna slapped his leg, causing him to hiss in pain.

"The High Priest is here, everything will be alright."

This is Nannick's voice, along with Lyra's faint sobs.

"Shh~"

The mysterious energy along the way, as well as the warm current transmitted by Lyra, greatly enhanced Ailin's control over his body.

He could feel Vesemir carefully removing his armor.

At one point, I suddenly felt a chill all over my body.

"Hiss~"

Almost simultaneously, a soft hissing sound of gasping for air came from all around.

The crowd whispered among themselves.

Wow! The knights of Arland have such great figures!

"What are you thinking? That's Lyra's person!"

"As expected of a Witcher from the School of the Wolf, with well-defined muscles and a well-proportioned bone structure... Lyra is in for a treat..."

"Yeah yeah!"

"Quiet!" Ianna seemed to only then realize that there were too many people in the treatment room. "Anyone who isn't involved should leave... I didn't mention you, Lyra... You stay..."

"Although I won't let you assist in treatment, you should still learn from this..."

Ianna paused, her tone meaningful. "From now on, you'll probably have to deal with injuries like this quite often..."

"That's right~"

"That's right~"

"Study hard, Lyra!"

Some voices, as they were leaving, murmured.

"Mother Ianna ~" Lyra muttered in dissatisfaction.

However, she stopped sobbing.

Since the High Priest still has the mind to joke, Ailin's injuries must not be serious.

"Minor burns... abrasions... these certainly wouldn't make a Witcher's body this weak..."

The icy hand started from his cervical spine, slid down his back muscles, and sent a shiver down his spine.

Then a familiar energy seeped into the area being touched.

"Torn muscle fascia... internal bleeding... By Meritellie's grace... such severe injuries, for a Witcher's body, he must have fallen from a hundred meters in the air... yet his bones only have minor cracks..."

"Strange! Strange!"

Ianna was bewildered and paused for a second.

"High Priest, is Ailin very serious?" Vesemir asked with concern.

"It shouldn't be too serious, it's mainly shock caused by excessive blood loss..." Ianna hesitated, seemingly also somewhat confused. "Never mind... Nannick ... bring the number four scalpel... let's clear away the blood clots first..."

"Lyra, prepare the Divine Art: Heal Minor Wounds..."

"Yes, Mother Ianna ..." Hearing that Ailin's injuries were not too serious, the young priest breathed a sigh of relief. "However, didn't you teach us before that we can let injuries heal naturally without using Divine Art?"

"Healing minor injuries, it seems..."

"For ordinary people, that's true." With a clanging metallic sound, Ianna took a knife that had been scorched by flames. "Divine Art merely forcibly depletes the target's life force, in other words, their lifespan, but for a witcher..."

Ianna paused, then continued, "Due to their modifications, witchers not only possess vitality several times, even dozens of times, stronger than ordinary people, but also have an exceptionally high rate of recovery from Divine Art spells thanks to their Mutated Organ..."

The High Priest seemed to have a clear understanding of the Witcher's structure.

It even gave everyone present the unsettling feeling that she had dissected several witchers alive, or that there were still several living beings hidden in a deep basement of the temple.

After exchanging bewildered glances, they fell silent.

"What are you thinking?" Without turning around, Ianna could sense that something was wrong behind her. "These are the records Vesemir gave me..."

Perhaps feeling it wasn't enough, he added, "It was given to me with Soyer's approval. Speaking of which, I also contributed to the improvement of the Trial of Grasses."

"I see..."

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, then looked at Vesemir with surprise.

It's understandable that they didn't know such things, but how could someone who has been Witcher Master for decades not know?

"I asked Vesemir and Soyer to keep it a secret."

Ianna sighed and answered for Vesemir.

"No matter how much we improve the decoction, people will still die in the Trial of Grasses... and many more will continue to die... many children..."

Nannick and Lyra fell silent.

At this point, it seems inappropriate to say anything.

Upon hearing this, Vesemir glanced at Ailin, opened his mouth as if to speak, but ultimately did not reveal the news that the School of the Wolf Trials had achieved a zero mortality rate.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Ianna, Nannick, and Lyra, but that in this room, and even in the Northern Continent, only one person was qualified to make this public.

Certainly!

That person, though not him, is not unrelated to him.

Ailin was an apprentice he had personally trained!

Vesemir thought to himself.

An odd silence fell over the treatment room for a long time.

The silence in the treatment room was broken when Ianna suddenly stopped what she was doing and turned around with a hesitant tone.

"Nannick, did you... pick up the wrong scalpel?"