Klar's Chosen Death! Fred's Mutation! Besieging the Tower!

The iron-clad oak door was pushed open, and both sides were stunned the moment they faced each other.

"Young Huus!"

Although he wasn't the person they were looking for, the thin, middle-aged man sitting in a high-backed chair, holding a wine glass, and wearing an exquisite, tight-fitting purple belted coat, was clearly an "acquaintance" of Dante's.

"Knock knock knock~"

The wine glass, filled with liquor, fell and splattered onto the soft red carpet.

The old, gray carpet was immediately stained dark red.

The sound of the wine glass hitting the ground seemed to flip a switch, immediately waking Young Huus.

He abruptly stood up from the high-backed chair, backing away in alarm, and stammered:

"Dan... Dan... Master Dante, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you...shouldn't you...shouldn't you be...

"Should he die down there?!" Dante approached in a few steps, holding his longsword upside down, his brown beast eyes, narrowed to slits, filled with furious rage.

"No... no..."

Young Huus was glared at so fiercely that he shivered and waved his hands frantically. He was forced into a corner with nowhere to retreat.

Didn't Master Derek Vascoss say that everything was foolproof, just a few experimental subjects?

And what about Lord Evans?

Why are the Witchers listed? Could it be that they've already... already...

Suddenly, a cold sensation touched his neck. Young Huus looked down and saw a gleaming longsword already pressed against his neck.

Although there was no blood on the longsword, the fresh, pungent smell of rust wafted over.

Young Huus sniffed the scent, his legs went weak, and he almost collapsed, letting out a pig-like scream:

"Master Dante! Master Dante!"

"Your father is your closest friend! He is your closest friend!"

"You can't kill Old Huus's child!"

Upon hearing this, Dante was so angry that his hair stood on end. "You still know that your father and I are close friends?!"

But looking at that face, which bore a striking resemblance to his late, beloved friend, Old Huus, it was a perfect match.

The longsword pressed down, but in the end it only drew a bloody mark on Young Huus's sickly pale neck before stopping.

Young Huus screamed again in fright.

"Spare his life for now," Ailin said, giving Dante a way out. "There are still many questions to ask about your murder. Let's find Bont first."

Dante, who was so angry that he lost his mind, then remembered why they had come.

"Yes... yes... yes..." Young Huus, having found a way out, quickly said, "I know a lot, I know a lot..."

Dante ignored Young Huus and glanced around.

The room was neither small nor large; a wall with an opening separated the inside from the outside.

The remnants of the banquet were still outside, and the air was filled with the mixed smells of grease and alcohol.

There was a bed inside, separated by a wall.

However, it looks like it hasn't been lived in for a long time; it's probably a guest room.

The sorcerer named Derek Vasquez attacked because he wanted experimental subjects, and this place clearly didn't resemble a laboratory.

"Bont isn't here," Dante said, frowning.

"You...you mean the kid who was captured?" Young Huus, glared at by Dante, didn't even dare wipe the blood trickling down his neck. "He...he...he's not here. Derek Vasquez sent people to take him to the lab..."

"Where is the lab?" Dante asked.

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

"Um?!!"

"Don't kill me! Don't kill me!"

Young Huus looked at the sword dripping with his blood, his voice trembling with fear, and he collapsed to the ground.

Since birth, he had never at any moment realized how close he was to death.

"I really don't know. After that child was brought here, Derek Vasquez ordered him to be taken away, and then we...we..."

He hadn't finished speaking.

The color of the tight-fitting clothes around Young Huus's crotch suddenly darkened.

"Useless trash!" Dante sniffed, his face grim, and spat bloody saliva onto the ground. "I don't know how such a valiant warrior Old Huus could have such a despicable and cowardly offspring as you."

"Who took him away? What kind of shoes was he wearing? How much did he weigh?" Ailin interjected.

Young Huus was taken aback, and seeing Dante's fierce gaze fixed on him again, he quickly said:

"Two...two guards, normal guard boots, one about my size, the other fatter than me...probably...probably..."

"Alright!" Ailin waved his hand to interrupt.

That's how Tracking; while you can see the exact path a target takes, you can't reveal everything the target does along the way.

Errors are inevitable when searching for targets through indirect means.

However, it's enough to deal with the current situation.

Ailin had already located Bont's movements from the dozens of red footprints on the carpet.

"Master Dante, take Young Huus with you, we..."

Before Ailin could finish speaking, she paused, looking out the window.

The next second.

A biting wind, carrying a noisy and surging howl, blew in, and then the entire tower began to tremble slightly.

Young Huus, who was paralyzed with fear on the ground, also sensed it. A glint of light flashed in his eyes, and a sense of anticipation rose unconsciously in his heart.

Yes!

How could Lord Derek Vascoss and Lord Evans be killed by a Witcher?

It must be that damned witcher who, through some sneaky means, managed to slip past Derek Vascoss and Lord Evans and sneak in like a thief.

Thinking about this...

Young Huus straightened his back slightly.

Then...

He saw Ailin and Dante exchange a grave look.

Then, in a Young Huus, Dante and the blue-eyed child vanished, followed by a tightness at the back of his neck, and the world spun around him.

"Walk!"

The child's loud shout then pierced his mind...

Like a sharp sword.

The sky over Drakkenberg.

"They've all rushed in! All the soldiers from Drakkenberg have rushed in!" Kray exclaimed, perched on the back of the Greater Griffin, squinting as he surveyed the entire Drakkenberg. "They must be heading to deal with the commander and Master Dante!"

For some reason, the seven Witchers, including Ernie, Klar, and Kray, were not on Greater Griffin Greater Griffin's claws, but on its back.

The Good Girl's back is certainly broad enough to accommodate nine witchers, but this inevitably makes the originally spacious space quite narrow at this moment.

Kray's emotional outburst nearly made Klar stumble.

Klar wasn't upset; their attention was all on Drakkenberg on the ground. But the Greater Griffin, whose balance had been slightly disrupted, felt extremely uncomfortable, as if it had fleas on its body, and wanted to shake its thick neck.

"Don't move, Good Girl! Don't move!" Vesemir, who was holding the Greater Griffin's thick mane, was so frightened that she quickly tried to calm her down.

With a soft, dissatisfied cry, the Greater Griffin's neck trembled, and it stopped moving.

She certainly couldn't understand Vesemir's language, but after spending several weeks together, they had developed some basic understanding.

"Phew~"

Vesemir breathed a sigh of relief and glared fiercely at Kray, who was looking over at him.

"How many times have I told you! Don't make a fuss about Good Girl!"

"Good Girl are Ailin's partners, not mine. If you move them a few more times, I'll throw you all off!"

Feeling the fierce winds high in the sky, Kray subconsciously turned his head to look at the tiny figure inside Drakkenberg, barely bigger than an ant. He couldn't help but shrink his head and swallow hard.

Klar, who was standing next to Kray, was so frightened that he immediately hugged Kray, afraid that if he moved again, he would be the first one to be thrown out.

It wasn't that Klar was afraid of dying.

Of course, with Nina, as beautiful as a pink tulip, waiting for him in the temple, he naturally didn't want to die.

But if I really had to choose a way to die...

Being killed by monsters, by male wizards, or even by Drakkenberg's soldiers are all acceptable ways to die.

But what does it matter if you get dragged down by your stupid and restless companions or dumped by Good Girl?

Could his lovely Nina hear that?

The most shameful way to die is to be speared to death by a farmer's pitchfork...

"I'm not moving, I'm not moving," Kray suddenly shouted. "Loosen up, Klar, loosen up, I can't breathe, I can't breathe..."

Klar, seemingly struck by a sudden thought, quickly loosened her arms.

Kray turned around, displeased. "Klar, do you want to kill me?"

"I know, it's all your fault for messing around!" Klar turned the tables first, then changed the subject before Kray could speak, "Master Vesemir, aren't you going down now?"

"With so many people, what if the commander and Master Dante get trapped in the tower? Wouldn't that be the end of us?"

The attention of everyone on the Greater Griffin was diverted to that.

"When Ailin needs us, he will summon the Greater Griffin," Vesemir glanced at the dark tower, his eyes filled with undisguised worry. "No one knows better than Ailin when to send the Greater Griffin into battle with us."

The young witcher fell silent.

Fred, who had just been rescued, overheard the conversation between Vesemir and the young witcher...

For a moment, I not only felt out of place, but also somewhat confused.

Why did everyone, even Vesemir, seem to take it for granted that Ernie and Klar would be useful in the situation after the Greater Griffin landed, rather than becoming a burden?

This is Drakkenberg, after all...

According to Master Dante, this is the largest prison in the world that is least likely to be broken into.

Even though Ernie and his group had passed the formal Trial of the Mountains more than a month earlier, he dared not say that he could escape from Drakkenberg.

But the auras Fred sensed and detected made the back of his head tingle slightly; even the weakest one, Xilo, seemed to be much stronger than him.

"What happened to Ernie and Klar?" Fred asked, bewildered, clutching the Greater Griffin's mane. "Was I really only knocked unconscious by the Leshen for half a day, and not half a year?"

He had a vague feeling that it was related to Ailin.

But think about it again, more important than the length of time.

He, Huus, and Bont had spent nearly half a year with Ailin, while Ernie and the others seemed to have only gone down the mountain with Ailin and Vesemir a month or two ago, which seemed a bit odd.

"Fred, are you still feeling unwell?"

"It's nothing, it's nothing," Fred looked up and met Vesemir's worried gaze. His cheeks flushed and he shook his head repeatedly.

Then he suddenly remembered something and asked, "By the way, Master Vesemir, can Ailin really summon the Great Lion from that distance... Good Girl?"

"Of course," Vesemir smiled, "It's no problem even across most of Temeria."

"That's good then."

Fred stroked the Greater Griffin's thick mane, feeling the chilling pressure emanating from beneath him, his heart filled with mixed emotions.

He suddenly remembered what Vesemir had said back in Kedwen, after the School of the Cat had sent a few witchers on a night raid, when he, Huus, and Bont could only watch helplessly as Ailin left alone, and even Vesemir had to stay behind to protect them...

Remember this day, my apprentices.

Remember that silhouette, and this feeling of shame you feel now, young Witcher.

The fundamental reason why you failed to walk alongside him and fight alongside him is because...

You guys are too weak!

"Too weak..."

Fred touched the back of his neck, which was throbbing slightly, and pressed down hard, making his nails dig deep into the flesh, making the throbbing pain clear and distinct.

"Why was I saved by Ailin again after half a year of arduous training, and once again I could only watch from the sidelines and couldn't draw my sword to help?"

Why do I feel weaker than I used to be?

"Why?"

In a daze.

Fred seemed to hear a sound.

Gentle, kind, and bright, like a lush green forest in summer...

But the sound seemed very distant, boundless, to the ends of the earth.

No one noticed that the blood flowing from the back of Fred's neck seemed to have a faint green glow.

After the blood was extended, it did not fall due to gravity, but was absorbed back into that patch of skin.

"..."

Half-asleep, Fred heard the voices more clearly, but just as he instinctively tried to listen more closely...

"Wrong!"

Ernie suddenly spoke, interrupting him.

"Master Vesemir, I've heard the captain say that male wizards know some rituals that can isolate the influence of magic, right?"

Vesemir paused for a moment, then nodded. "There is indeed such a ritual. Both the Ban Ad's teleportation imprisonment ritual field and a ritual called Slowing Magic can achieve this."

"So what are you trying to say, Ernie?"

Ernie stared intently at Drakkenberg below. "In this kind of ritual setting, can Ailin still summon Good Girl?"

"Of course..." Vesemir's tone suddenly faltered.

He realized he had no idea whether it was possible or not. After all, the Greater Griffin had only been tamed for a short time and had never encountered this situation before. He guessed that Ailin himself probably didn't know either.

The problem is that this situation is not impossible in the present day.

On the contrary.

In principle, all long-distance information transmission cannot be separated from the participation of magic and elements.

Drakkenberg has never been breached by elves, who are renowned for their magical talent, even after a century or so, so its defenses must have included anti-magic measures.

In addition, to his knowledge.

In the wizard's laboratory, this ritual is also a regular practice to prevent the lively magical elements from affecting the experimental results.

"It's possible." This was a statement, not a question, and Ernie's expression changed.

Before he could say anything, Kray suddenly exclaimed:

"Look! Drakkenberg!"

Everyone leaned down to look, and their expressions changed drastically.

Inside the dark, enormous castle, countless fireflies flew from all directions toward the tower.

Upon closer inspection, it became clear that what appeared to be fireflies were actually at least several thousand soldiers, each equipped with different weapons, gathering together.

"They...their target..." Kray was too shocked to speak.

"It's the tower," Vesemir's molten gold beast eyes suddenly narrowed to slits, "The tower where Ailin is..."