Handsome Is a Lifetime's Business!

"Wait, Ailin!"

Upon hearing this, Carlo's expression changed drastically, and he immediately rushed over to persuade him to abandon this terrible idea.

With Evenson dead, there's really no need for pretense anymore, since there's no one left to hold accountable.

The king will send people to investigate, but by then all traces will be gone, and besides, they've already been exiled to Drakkenberg. At most, they'll be fined some military pay, and when the successor comes to power, he'll still have to rely on them.

But it's a completely different story for Witchers.

In order to rescue their companions who had been captured and experimented on by the male wizards, they stormed into Drakkenberg and killed some male wizards, which was considered their own fault. After all, the male wizards and the School of the Wolf had a bad relationship to begin with, and besides, the male wizards were in the wrong this time.

But Evenson was a duke, a fully- Bestow Honor, and the administrator of Drakkenberg personally appointed by the King of Redania.

Killing him is no different from defying the king.

Even if the culprit wasn't the wizard, but Evanson, it would still be the same.

What matters is never right or wrong, but rather one's stance!

If someone with ulterior motives were to seize the opportunity to cause trouble, the School of the Wolf might offend a large number of nobles.

But those with good intentions...

Conclave of Sorcerers dislike witchers are not everywhere.

Unfortunately, it was too late.

Carlo had only taken two steps when he heard Ailin shout "Flash!" He and Wyatt and the others were still unaware of what was about to happen.

"Sizzle!"

It felt as if a sun had exploded right in front of me.

The sudden, blinding light caused the pupils to contract sharply, and the eyelids to tremble in response.

The brain's instinctive dizziness made the body feel as if it had lost its weight, as if it were floating in the sky.

The screams all around were a continuous chorus.

As a top assassin, what kind of attacks hasn't he endured? He shouldn't have fallen into such a state of being unable to fight.

But Ailin's identity was too deceptive, and besides, they weren't enemies, so they completely let their guard down.

and...

"Damn it! Magic Flash of this strength!" Carlo squeezed his eyes shut, tears of primal instinct streaming down his face. "Is that kid, Ailin, really a Witcher?"

"What kind of monster School of the Wolf?"

At this moment.

"Don't worry, Carlo!" Ailin's voice suddenly echoed in his mind, "Times have changed!"

Carlo struggled to open his right eye. The ruins where Ailin and Dante had been standing were now empty.

At that moment, two figures stepped over the shoulders and heads of several guards and darted out of the laboratory.

"What are you talking about, a little kid, about the times..."

Carlo scoffed and shook his head.

The Magic Flash couldn't possibly affect all the guards; some were just lucky enough to have their view blocked by the person in front of them, or perhaps they just happened to blink.

There are actually quite a few of these guards.

Those who weren't caught off guard, upon seeing the two demon hunters approaching menacingly, all instinctively followed the screams of their companions and lay prone on the ground.

Even the guards outside the bronze gate, who couldn't see any Magic Flash at all, pretended to avoid battle.

Not a single person stood up to stop them, not one.

Therefore, Ailin and Dante's return journey was surprisingly easy.

"That Evans guy is really unpopular..."

Stepping out of the lab, Dante reached out and lifted Bont up, glanced at the soldiers pretending to be unconscious behind him, and shook his head.

With a flick of his wrist, Ailin twirled his sword and plunged it into the void beside him.

The entire Balmor disappeared from the tip of the sword all the way to the hilt, as if the sword had been swallowed by the void.

After trying it a few times, he had come to like this way of drawing and sheathing his sword.

The Summon Staff is a beginner spell, almost instantaneous in speed, no slower than drawing a sword from its sheath on the back, but it can conceal the identity of a Witcher.

In battle, information asymmetry is a weapon even sharper than divine artifacts.

in addition.

This way of sheathing and drawing the sword is quite cool.

Having just tasted the sweetness of success, Ailin found it hard to stop.

"If a knight's cloak is not stained with the first drop of blood, his squire will only cower behind his shield in fear," Ailin said softly as he sheathed his sword and returned to the void.

Dante stared blankly at the spot where the longsword had disappeared, a hint of envy flashing in his eyes.

"That makes sense..." He nodded, pondering Ailin's words, and thought to himself, "Evans not only doesn't have the first blood on his cloak, but he's been gone from the battlefield and we still haven't seen him. No wonder the guards' morale is low..."

"I bet quite a few of the guards were saved by the Witcher..." Ailin continued, "Like Wyatt's shield guards, like Carlo, like Sam ..."

Dante let out a long, satisfying breath, as if releasing all the pent-up emotions in his heart, and a slight smile appeared on his lips:

"When you walk on the path of glory, you will naturally have companions."

"This is a phrase Chieftain Soyer often says. Another phrase is, 'There are two blades between destiny...'"

"Evans underestimated the School of the Wolf and overestimated his authority in Drakkenberg. Neither of his blades was sharp, so he deserved to lose."

"By the way," Dante glanced at Ailin's right hand and suddenly asked "casually," "can an ordinary witcher learn the spell to Summon Staff?"

"It's difficult," Ailin chuckled softly. "Master Dante, you yourself said that the Summon Staff is a spell, and it's different from a sign."

"Not even a chance?" Dante seemed somewhat unwilling. "The Ice Lance Spell you created before, although the incantation is a bit... uh... a bit strange, it's still something you can learn..."

Ailin shook his head. "You said it yourself, that was the Ice Lance Spell I created. Summon Staff is a proper warlock spell, requiring a high Elemental Affinity, as well as the Divine Power to perceive space and utilize it..."

"Alright, alright," Dante said, his head aching at the mention of elements, space, and calculations. He quickly waved his hand in disappointment. "If you can't learn it, so be it. For a Witcher, the sword is life; it should be carried on your back..."

Next came a series of incomprehensible phrases such as "man and sword as one," "elements may betray, but steel will not," and "a sword has feelings and needs constant nurturing."

"But..."

Ailin suddenly spoke again, causing Dante to pause. "Our Witcher's Signs are also derived from magic. When we return to Kaer Morhen, perhaps we can discuss with Lady Vesemir how to modify them into Signs."

Dante stopped saying those sour things this time.

He was silent for a few seconds, exchanged a glance with Ailin, cursed "You little rascal," and then couldn't help but burst into laughter.

The two witchers walked down the stairs in the tower belonging to Drakkenberg, exchanging a few words of laughter every now and then.

The air smelled damp, just like all ancient castles.

It's like...

They weren't deep inside Drakkenberg, but rather walking through the Ancient Sea Fortress. On a hangover afternoon, they left their room together, heading to the castle hall to find the Witcher who had come back for the winter to brag.

Only the occasional glimpse of a guard's head peeking out from a corridor, wooden door, or around a corner, before disappearing again, proved that they were in "enemy" territory, on the battlefield...

Outside the tower, a cavalry column of about a hundred men and a guard of hundreds of men awaited them.

After descending three more floors, Evans's shouts and commands could be faintly heard.

The two witchers from the School of the Wolf suddenly fell silent.

"Da da da~"

The sound of their footsteps echoed in the corridors and staircases, empty and somber.

"Don't you object to my next move?" Ailin suddenly broke the silence.

Dante countered, "If I object, will you back out?"

Ailin shook his head.

"You're quite honest..." Dante chuckled and shook his head. "Since you won't listen, why should I oppose something I can't stop?"

He looked at Ailin's face, which still retained some of its youthful innocence but now showed signs of maturity, and sighed softly:

"Drowner Killer," he suddenly called out Ailin's title in Kaer Morhen, "I can no longer stop you from hunting monsters other than water ghosts just to keep you from leaving Kaer Morhen, just like I did in Kaer Morhen."

"Now you can go wherever you want, from the Blue Mountains, across the Buina River, all the way to the Dragon Mountains, I can't stop you."

"It's not that bad," Ailin said, pursing his lips in exasperation. Who would go that far these days just to kill some weaklings? "And the nickname 'Drowner Killer ' is really awful. I wonder who came up with it... Huh?!! It was you who came up with it..."

He saw Dante turn his head away awkwardly.

"Is it not nice?" He chuckled twice. "I think it's fine. It's okay if you don't like it. There will always be new titles to replace old nicknames."

The new title doesn't sound good either... Ailin thought to himself.

Dante, who had made a joke, stared at the dense, impenetrable darkness at the bottom of the stairs. His smile slowly faded, and he said in a deep voice:

"This time they've crossed the line!"

He turned around and looked directly at Ailin.

Ailin saw the weariness on Dante's face, the weariness that couldn't be suppressed after a whole day of fighting. But his brown Cat Eyes were exceptionally bright, as if suppressing a scorching, burning flame.

"Of course a witcher can die, Ailin, of course he can..."

"No one is immortal. For a Witcher, death is not the end, but the destination."

"But!"

Dante gritted his teeth, his angry voice almost squeezed out from between his teeth:

"But the School of the Wolf's witchers can die at the hands of Leshen, they can die at the hands of Foglet, they can even be dragged into the water by water ghosts, their lungs filled with the stench of the water, drowned alive, and then dismembered and devoured..."

"But it's the one thing I can't do!"

"The only thing we must not do is be framed by humans, be ensnared by conspiracies, be tricked, or be used as a bargaining chip in those low-down, underhanded interests!"

"Whoever he is, Ailin, and whoever stands behind him!"

"Ailin!"

Dante pressed his hand firmly on Ailin's shoulder, his gaze fixed on Erin's eyes:

"Do what you want to do!"

"As for everything else, I'll take care of it!"

In front of the tower.

Evans was not standing at the door, but was tightly protected by the few shield guards left behind, while nearly a hundred heavy cavalrymen led by Milo stood in front of him, and nearly a thousand guards protected his flanks.

"You mean the laboratory of the Rissberg Civil Conglomerate was broken into, and a wizard died as soon as he entered?"

Evans frowned as he looked at the limping, blood-covered Young Huus.

"Yes, I saw him click a few times, and the wizard died..."

Young Huus gesticulated wildly as he described the scene, and afterwards, cold sweat poured down his forehead:

"Lord Evans, that child is definitely an experienced assassin. I suspect he might be one of the most skilled witchers from the School of the Cat. I've heard that they..."

"What nonsense are you talking about? Are you blinded by a little blood?" Evans frowned in disgust. "The child Dante is with isn't an assassin, and certainly not a witcher. He's a sorceress, Sorceress!"

"Huh?" Young Huus was stunned. "But... but... but..."

"Stop with the 'cocoa' stuff," Evans waved his hand, interrupting him. "So what if two mere witchers get in and use some underhanded tricks to kill a wizard named Riesberg?"

"Tonight, the entire Department of Nonhuman Research of the Rissberg Civil Conglomerate is conducting research in the laboratory, including Ronnie Dickinson of the Advanced Council of Conclave of Sorcerers. How could they possibly escape?"

"Someone come here!"

He waved his hand and summoned a guard. "Baron House has suffered a serious head injury and is quite delirious. Quickly take him to Physician Solan for treatment."

But... but I clearly saw that he had the eyes of a witcher... Before Young Huus could finish speaking, he was half-invited and half-forced by the fierce guards to the back of the group.

There, two or three doctors in white robes were stopping the bleeding and treating the wounded guards and shieldmen.

"No problem, no problem," Evanson muttered to himself. "Wyatt and Carlo have both taken their men up there, and there's Lord Ronnie Dickinson too. A mere witcher from the School of the Wolf and a Sorceress, there's no way things will go wrong..."

The more he muttered to himself, the more confident he became, but even so, there was always a vague, inexplicable unease lingering within him.

This made Evans extremely anxious, and he cursed inwardly:

"Damn mutant monsters, freaks, servants of the devil, why can't they just die obediently and become material for male wizards, benefiting us humans? Wouldn't that be better?"

"Monsters are becoming fewer and fewer, and humans no longer need witchers."

"Can't you just roll into the trash heap like a worn-out rag?"

After cursing a few times in his mind, Evans felt much better.

He glanced at the somewhat restless guards around him and thought of sending someone to investigate the situation inside the tower. When he looked up, he seemed to see a figure moving around at the tower entrance.

"That place is..."

Before he could finish speaking...

A high-pitched cry, both fierce and joyful, suddenly descended from the sky with a chilling pressure.

"Boom!"

In an instant, it felt as if the sky had collapsed and the earth had split open.

"What is that?"

"What's in the sky?!"

"Monster! Monster!"

The guards immediately became agitated.

Evans watched in terror as the dark figure swooped down, like a monster that seemed to have collapsed into the sky, and tried to flee back into the tower.

Just then.

He suddenly felt darkness before his eyes, as if something was blocking the firelight in front of him.

Evans lowered his head.

His gaze met a pair of azure, beastly eyes filled with murderous intent.

The Greater Griffin cried out in the sky.