Self-cultivation?

"Let's raise our glasses together to welcome the slayer of the King of Ice, the prospective Witcher Master, the Drowner Killer, the Witcher apprentice Ailin!"

Witcher Dante stood by the grand bonfire, raising his goblet to the crowded long table.

"Bang!"

"Bang!"

All the Witchers at the forty-person long table cooperatively tapped their goblets against the wooden table.

The fragrant wine spilled onto the table, but no one paid it any mind.

Raise your glasses, drink heartily.

Ailin, sitting closest to the bonfire, also helplessly downed the wine in his cup under everyone's gaze.

The untreated head of the "King of Ice" rested behind his seat, still oozing blood.

Before the Witcher apprentice entered the castle hall, he had asked if the Drowner King's head should be processed, but was decisively refused by Vesemir beside him.

"Witchers are not nobles or sorcerers; the taste of rust only makes good wine more fragrant."

With no other choice, the Witcher apprentice held the monster's head, which was half his size, placed it behind his seat in full view of everyone, and then sat in the main seat.

To be honest, Ailin still wasn't quite used to having something staring at him from under his chair while he ate.

However, after a few cups of wine, coupled with the goodwill and enthusiasm of the School of the Wolf Witchers, these details were quickly forgotten.

After three rounds of drinks, the Witchers at the long table teased Ailin a few times. Then, seeing that he wasn't someone who liked to show off, they tacitly shifted the topic.

According to tradition, the Witcher who arrived at the mountain last would bring fresh news from the lowlands.

"The fresh news has all been covered by those who arrived earlier, so I only brought back an interesting book."

"What book? You know not many people here are interested in such things. Could it be another Thousand and One Nights of a Witcher and some female monster?"

"Hahaha, then we really must take a good look, don't you think, Vesemir?"

Except for Vesemir, the other Witchers at the table were all amused.

Vesemir shook his head helplessly, seemingly accustomed to this scene.

The Witcher who had just returned also chuckled, then took out a book.

On the tattered cowhide cover, crookedly written, was: "Freaks, or A Description of Witchers."

Someone familiar with this Witcher snatched the book and read aloud:

"To be honest, there is no existence more hideous and unnatural than a Witcher, for they are the product of vile sorcery and demonic arts..."

The Witcher's voice grew softer as he read.

"They are scoundrels without morals, conscience, or scruples, truly devilish creations, skilled only in killing. Decent folk disdain to associate with them..."

The idle chatter gradually ceased, and twenty to thirty pairs of cat-like eyes fixed on the book, their scorching gazes almost enough to ignite the tattered paper.

"Kaer Morhen, the dwelling place of those shameless creatures, is also where they practice their vile arts. We must utterly obliterate that castle, scattering salt and saltpeter over every inch of its land..."

The Witcher couldn't read any further. Angrily, he flipped the page to the cover, then quickly flipped through several more pages, but couldn't find the author's name.

He gritted his teeth and cursed:

"Cowardly scoundrel, only daring to slander behind our backs. If you have the guts, put your name on it!"

"Kramer, why did you bring this kind of thing to the table?"

"I didn't ask you to read it all out. I just wanted to give a general summary of the content," the Witcher named Kramer said helplessly.

Then, he looked around seriously and said, "I've seen this book in many places, among farmers, nobles, and sorcerers... I borrowed this book from a... sorcerer friend..."

"A male sorcerer or a female sorcerer?" someone interrupted.

"That's not important, what's important is..."

"It seems to be a female sorcerer."

"Mago! I'm trying to say something seriously!" His face flushed, and he suddenly stood up.

"Kramer! I know you're serious, but it's pointless."

"We all know this is the slander of a male sorcerer, possibly from some unlucky fellow from Ban Ard whose business was stolen by a Witcher."

"But so what? We are the strong, they are the weak. You can't take away their right to wail and cry," Mago also stood up, confronting Kramer.

"Alright, alright, it's a small matter, sit down," Vesemir, next to Ailin, said with his goblet, easing the tension. "The School of the Wolf adheres to neutrality. As long as there are monsters in this world, we don't need to pay attention to idle gossip."

Vesemir seemed to hold considerable authority among the School of the Wolf Witchers.

He had only spoken two sentences before Mago shook his head and casually sat down.

Kramer's expression changed slightly before he unhappily returned to his seat.

The feast continued.

Glasses clinked.

After drinking a few cups under everyone's urging, Mago and Kramer reconciled and resumed their normal conversation and laughter.

A moment later, the castle hall was as lively as if nothing had happened.

After another round of drinking, Vesemir, estimating it was getting late, let Ailin leave early.

Before leaving the castle hall, Ailin suddenly thought of the Witcher Leto, who had left a few days ago.

He hadn't even passed the Trial of the Mountains, yet he was sitting at the long table in the castle hall.

"I wonder what Leto will think when he knows about this?"

"We must completely obliterate that castle, scattering salt and saltpeter over every inch of its land..."

After leaving the castle hall, this sentence kept echoing in Ailin's mind.

Most of the Witchers of the School of the Wolf believed that "Freaks, or A Description of Witchers" was merely the work of the weak, born from jealousy and wails.

But Ailin knew it was a declaration of war.

The force, or forces, that planned, wrote, and spread this book were issuing a challenge to the School of the Wolf, and indeed to all Witcher schools.

Some might have already realized the threat, but unfortunately, most did not take it seriously.

How could the Witchers of the School of the Wolf now believe that the "person" who wrote the book had actually followed through on their word?

"Salt and saltpeter will be scattered over every inch of this land..."

Ailin murmured.

Looking out, rows of torches stood tall on both sides of the avenue, illuminating the otherwise gloomy and terrifying ancient castle.

The clamor from the castle hall, even from the corners of the Ancient Sea Fortress, conveyed a reluctance and love for life.

"I don't like this place," Ailin thought.

This place brought him too much pain.

The Trial of Grasses, the mushroom soup meal, the death pressure of the Trial of the Mountains, the bloody and violent monster attacks...

Neither mentally nor physically, these were things a normal person should endure.

"And I don't want this place to be destroyed by others."

Vesemir, Leto, Huus, Bont, Fred, and even Vesemir and the Chieftain.

In just a few days, he had remembered many names, and many people had remembered him.

After the Trial of the Mountains, he could certainly find a place to hide and stay out of trouble.

But.

Was he truly willing to accept that?

Was he really going to let this place go up in flames?

New author, new book, seeking reads, comments, collections, and monthly passes!

Thanks to book friends "Qiu Fan Bin" and "Ya Zi_" for their monthly passes.