Looking Out for Himself?

"Let us raise our glasses to welcome the hunter of the King of Ice, Witcher Master candidate, Drowner Killer, witcher apprentice Ailin!"

Witcher Dante stood beside the grand bonfire and raised his glass toward the crowded long table.

Bang!

Bang!

All the witchers at the table for forty cooperatively struck their cups against the wooden tabletop.

Fine wine splashed across the table, but no one cared.

They raised their glasses and drank deeply.

Standing at the seat closest to the bonfire, Ailin could only helplessly drain his cup under everyone's gaze.

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

Before entering the castle hall, the witcher apprentice had asked whether they should deal with the Drowners King's head, only to be firmly refused by Vesemir beside him.

"Witchers aren't nobles or mages. The scent of rust only makes the wine richer."

Left with no choice, the witcher apprentice carried the monster's head, which was half his size, and placed it behind his seat in full view of everyone before sitting at the head of the table.

To be honest,

Ailin still wasn't used to having something stare at him from beneath his chair while he ate.

But after a few cups of wine, combined with the goodwill and warmth of the School of the Wolf witchers, he quickly put such details out of his mind.

After several rounds of drinks, the witchers at the table teased Ailin a little, but once they saw that he was not someone who liked showing off, they tacitly changed the subject.

By custom, the witcher who came up the mountain last would bring news from below.

"All the news has already been told by those before me, so I only brought back an interesting book."

"What book? You should know there aren't many people here interested in that sort of thing. Don't tell me it's another One Thousand and One Nights of a witcher and some female monster?"

"Hahaha, then we really ought to have a good look, wouldn't you say, Vesemir?"

Everyone at the table except Vesemir was delighted.

Vesemir helplessly shook his head, as though he had long since grown accustomed to this scene.

The witcher who had just returned laughed along, then took out a book.

On its battered leather cover, crooked words read: "Freaks, or a Description of Witchers."

Someone familiar with the witcher beside him immediately snatched the book away and began reading aloud:

"To be honest, there are no creatures uglier or more contrary to nature than witchers, for they are the products of wicked sorcery and dark magic..."

The witcher's voice grew lower and lower as he read.

"They are scoundrels without morality, conscience, or restraint, truly demonic creations with no talent beyond killing. Upright people disdain associating with them..."

The chatter gradually fell silent. Twenty or thirty pairs of Cat Eyes stared fixedly at the book, their burning gazes nearly setting its tattered pages alight.

"Kaer Morhen, the lair of those shameless creatures, is also where they cultivate their wicked arts. We must erase that castle completely and scatter salt and saltpeter across every inch of its land..."

The witcher could not keep reading. Furious, he flipped the pages back to the cover, then quickly turned through several more, but could not find the author's name.

Gritting his teeth, he cursed:

"Cowardly vermin! You only dare slander us behind our backs. If you have the nerve, put your name on it!"

"Kramer, why did you bring that thing to the dinner table?"

"I never told you to read it all out. I only meant to roughly mention what it was about," the witcher named Kramer said helplessly.

Then he swept a serious gaze around the table. "I've seen this book in many places already—among farmers, nobles, and Sorcerers... I borrowed this copy from a... Sorcerer friend..."

"A male Sorcerer or a Sorceress?" someone interrupted.

"That isn't important. What matters is..."

"Looks like it was a Sorceress."

"Mago! I'm discussing something serious!" His face flushed red as he sprang to his feet.

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

"We all know this is slander from a Sorcerer. It may even have come from some unlucky fellow at Ban Ard whose business was stolen by witchers."

"But so what? We're the strong, and they're the weak. You can't deprive them of the right to wail and scream." Mago also rose to his feet, confronting Kramer tit for tat.

"Enough, enough. It's only a small matter. Sit down." Vesemir raised his cup beside Ailin and tried to smooth things over. "The School of the Wolf maintains neutrality. As long as monsters still exist in this world, we need not care about idle gossip."

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

With only two sentences from him, Mago shook his head and sat down indifferently.

After his expression changed a few times, Kramer reluctantly returned to his seat as well.

The feast continued.

Glasses were raised and exchanged.

After being urged by everyone to drink a few cups, Mago and Kramer reconciled and resumed chatting and laughing normally.

Before long, the castle hall was lively again as if nothing had happened.

After another round of drinking, Vesemir judged that it was getting late and had Ailin leave early.

Before walking out of the castle hall, Ailin suddenly thought of Witcher Leto, who had left several days ago.

Before even passing the Trial of the Mountains, he had already sat at the long table in the castle hall.

What would Leto think when he learned about this?

"We must erase that castle completely and scatter salt and saltpeter across every inch of its land..."

After leaving the castle hall, those words continued echoing in Ailin's mind.

Most School of the Wolf witchers believed that "Freaks, or a Description of Witchers" was merely the petty work of weak people driven by jealousy and despair.

But Ailin knew that it was a declaration of war.

The faction—or factions—that had plotted, written, and distributed this book were declaring war on the School of the Wolf, and even on every witcher school.

Some might already have realized the threat, but unfortunately, most people had not taken it seriously.

How could the School of the Wolf witchers of today believe that the "people" who wrote the book would truly do exactly as they said?

"Salt and saltpeter will be scattered across every inch of this place..."

Ailin murmured.

Looking out, rows of torches stood along both sides of the avenue, bathing the ancient castle, which should have been gloomy and frightening, in brilliant light.

Even from a corner of the Ancient Sea Fortress, the clamor from the castle hall conveyed an attachment to life and a love for it.

I don't like this place, Ailin thought.

This place had brought him far too much pain.

The Trial of Grasses, mushroom soup for every meal, the deadly pressure of the Trial of the Mountains, the bloody and violent attacks by monsters...

Neither mentally nor physically were these things something a normal person should have to endure.

But I don't want this place to be destroyed by others either.

Vesemir, Leto, Huus, Bont, Fred, and even Vera and the chief.

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

After the Trial of the Mountains, he could naturally find any place to hide and look out only for himself.

But.

Could he really accept it?

Could he truly just watch this place be reduced to ashes?

New author, new book. Please keep reading, leave comments, bookmark it, and vote monthly!

Thanks to readers "Qubain" and "Yazi_" for their monthly votes.