Ailin's Favor! Let Evans Go?

"A great undertaking?" Dante turned back in confusion. "A magnificent cause?"

"More or less." Ailin nodded. "Did Rebidia mention this word to you?"

Seeing that Dante looked serious, Ailin frowned, lowered his head, and pondered for a long time.

"Rebidia's life's work was certainly remarkable," Dante said. "He did countless things for the ordinary people of Kedwen, from resolving neighborhood disputes and disagreements, and teaching them tips on shepherding and farming, to negotiating tax reductions on behalf of villagers and nobles, and even driving away ferocious beasts and expanding human settlements..."

"Countless".

He glanced at the Prophet Rebidia's Wisdom Collection "that Sam was holding in his arms, which showed obvious signs of reading but was carefully preserved:

"Rebidia has been to Redania, but never to Drakkenberg; his wisdom has gone further and longer than his footsteps."

"So of course, Rebidia has accomplished a great feat."

"The wisdom of the prophet is indeed a great achievement. You can find all the answers in the Holy Book!" Sam nodded excitedly.

All the answers... Ailin doubted this, but he had no need to refute a believer's piety at this moment.

"But the word 'great achievement' itself..." Dante shook his head, "I've never heard Rebidia mention it."

"What about the other warlocks?" Ailin pressed.

"No." This time, Dante didn't even think about it carefully before shaking his head. "Sorcerers often spout grand pronouncements that are hard to understand, like Ronnie Dickinson, whether it's about eternal peace, perfecting the human species, or finding the secrets of the Creator..."

"They keep claiming to be acting for humanity, yet they refuse to kill a water ghost for humans who are constantly harassed by monsters, and even use ordinary people's bodies for research..."

Dante curled his lip in disdain, then, realizing he had gone off-topic, added:

"Of course, I don't know many warlocks either. Why are you suddenly asking this? Is it important?"

"Mm." Ailin nodded.

Dante stroked his beard and suggested:

"When you get back to Kaer Morhen, you can ask Aristo. He's the Witcher who spent the most time with Rebidia."

Ailin nodded slightly, no longer disturbing Dante and Sam.

Drakkenberg's vigilance was much lower during the day than at night. It's possible that they were heading to the North District instead of the East District, where the administrators and wizards lived. The city's leader had also disappeared the day before, and Sam hadn't been questioned once along the way.

After crossing several suspension bridges in the North District and climbing two ramps, the piercing screams suddenly ceased, replaced by a street resembling a craft market area within the city.

The stall was cluttered with tomatoes, nails, burlap, and other odds and ends. A gray-haired blacksmith directed his apprentice to add charcoal to the furnace. At the end of the street, there was even a Wooden Hut with a beer sign...

Of course, there weren't many people early in the morning, probably because it wasn't time for the shift change yet.

"The North District is where our soldiers live. Blacksmiths, tailors, and other businesses are also located here. If you want a drink, you can have a couple during your free time, but it's limited and quite expensive..."

"We usually only come here when we get our quarterly paychecks, and we exchange wheat and olive oil for a couple of drinks..."

The story of Rebidia was almost finished at this point, Sam quietly added a few words.

"When I came here eight years ago, there didn't seem to be any taverns, just blacksmiths, tailors, and an old woman selling apple pies..." Dante said.

"Yes," Sam nodded. "The tavern was opened three years ago by... a cousin of Evans Evans. Granny Tracy, who sold apple pies, left with the previous manager, Viscount Ferdinand. I think she was the Viscount's former cook..."

"A noble cook indeed, no wonder that apple pie was so delicious," Dante remarked.

After passing the newly opened stalls, I turned two more corners.

The air began to faintly smell of rust, alcohol, and herbs. As the smells grew stronger, so did the occasional arguments, or rather, one-sided emotional outbursts.

"How could it be beyond saving! You just said there was hope!"

A familiar, angry voice echoed in a longhouse planted with various herbs.

A woman said softly, "I meant that if nothing unusual happens, there might be hope for them to survive, but now both of them have fevers, so..."

"Look at Big Iron Shield's legs, the bones aren't even completely broken! How can he be dying like this?" An angry voice interrupted the woman, "Furi at most has abrasions, how did it have to come to that?"

The woman wasn't angry; perhaps she was used to it. She calmly explained, "Wyatt, they have fevers, their wounds are festering, and there are signs of internal bleeding..."

"We're just ordinary doctors. Such severe injuries can't be treated in Drakkenberg. We might as well give them some Safflower to reduce their pain..."

"Can the Temple of Melitele heal it?" A voice suddenly pushed open the door and entered.

"Who?!" The burly man sitting by the hospital bed suddenly looked up, his bloodshot eyes glaring angrily.

"Sam... Sam..." Sam was so frightened by the murderous kick that his legs went weak.

The big man's gaze didn't linger on him, but instead fell on the open space beside him.

His eyes flashed with barely concealed anger, and he blinked incredulously, his mouth agape in astonishment.

"The lady's temple can certainly heal," the middle-aged woman in linen clothes said. She didn't recognize the newcomer, but she shifted slightly, standing between the burly man and Sam. "It's just that Drakkenberg is too far from Arland. These two injured men can't hold on for that long, and they can't withstand the jolting..."

"You mean!" The burly man, regaining his senses, suddenly stood up from the bed.

"Wyatt, this is a hospital!" The middle-aged woman spread her arms, blocking the way.

"No... no... why are you back?" Wyatt waved his hands repeatedly, stammering for a few seconds before peering at both ends of the longhouse and whispering, "Polina is one of us, Master Dante, and..."

"Ailin, Ailin of the School of the Wolf." Ailin waved his hand to dispel the mirage, then nodded to the stunned middle-aged woman, Polina. "Can we take these two injured people to the Temple of Melitele? We should be able to get there before noon. Is that enough time?"

"We...we can make it..." Polina answered instinctively, then shook her head, "But how can we possibly cross the Pontar River in just one morning..."

"They can do it! They can fly over there!" Wyatt excitedly interrupted Polina.

"The sky... the sky?"

Polina looked bewildered. Since the injured were brought in, they had been receiving treatment and she was unaware of the Greater Griffin.

"It's too complicated to explain right now! We'll talk about it when we get back..." Wyatt hurriedly pushed Polina to the bedsides of the two injured people. "Quick! Polina! Quickly bandage up Big Iron Shield and Furi's injuries."

Polina could only change the dressings for the two injured men, using a smooth little wooden stick to fix the bones in their legs.

Big Iron Shield and Furi were unconscious, their faces pale, and they were being handled by the men.

Master Dante and Ailin seem to have a good relationship with Lord Wyatt... Sam stared in astonishment at the scene before him.

"Drakkenberg isn't all bad..." Ailin patted Sam on the shoulder.

Then he turned and glanced around the empty longhouse. "What about the other wounded? If there are any that cannot be treated, we can take them with us."

Wyatt paused in his movement as he held the Big Iron Hammer.

"There are no other injured people." Polina shook her head.

"But..." Ailin hesitated, then swallowed back the words she was about to say when she saw Wyatt's evasive look.

Too.

Even shield guards protected by large shields, other magical artifacts, and possibly even those who had undergone physical modifications, were severely injured by the Mudslide. How could ordinary guards possibly survive?

"This has nothing to do with you," Dante said. "Have you forgotten what I said? This is a war, and in a war, we have no choice."

"Master Dante is right. It was a war, and those people died because of Evans's selfishness. They were killed by Evans." Wyatt stood up, his Little Eye looking at him sincerely. "Ailin, before coming here, we were all prepared..."

"What preparations should be made..." Ailin didn't ask that question. He just looked at the two burly men who had been bandaged and took a deep breath.

The smell of blood and bitter herbs filled my nostrils.

"I've done my best..." he told himself.

Wyatt packed up the two wounded men with remarkable speed. After leaving the hospital, he called two shield guards, one named "Big Head" and the other "Little Head," to help carry the wounded men.

They also borrowed a freight wagon from the general store.

This time, leaving Drakkenberg was easier than before.

No one would stop the few "corpses" carrying blood-soaked white cloths, shield guards with "grief" and fierce expressions, especially those guards who knew what had happened last night.

They didn't even dare to glance at us out of the corner of their eyes.

"Just leave it here!"

After leaving Drakkenberg smoothly, they made two turns on the road from Drakkenberg to Monte Cava, and Ailin told them to stop by the roadside.

"Ailin".

Wyatt stepped down from the carriage, glanced at the deserted path, and stared at Ailin, who had turned around at the sound of his voice, and said:

"Big Iron Shield and Furi are already so badly injured, it's normal if they can't be cured. That's their fate."

"It's the Lady of Fate who won't let them live, just like when the Witcher was chosen by the Accident Law."

Ailin paused for two seconds, then nodded. "Don't worry, it can be cured."

"You may not know this, but I am very familiar with the High Priest of the Temple of Melitele, Madam Ianna... Lady Ianna."

Wyatt paused for a second, then laughed heartily, "Good, good, good, I'm relieved now."

"After those two brats are healed, don't let them rush back," he said, pulling a money pouch from his pocket and handing it to Ailin. "They're dead in Drakkenberg, but they're orphans anyway, and they're not married yet, so it doesn't matter where they are. They can stay in Arland for now."

"I'll find a way to arrange work for them after a while."

Ailin said, "In that case, I can ask Duke Mason of Arland. For some reason, he's also short-staffed right now..."

"Or ask the priests at the temple for help; they might be able to find some suitable work."

Wyatt's outstretched right hand paused, and after a few seconds of silence, he hesitated before asking, "Mason... the Duke?"

"Duke Mason of Arland," Ailin nodded, "I have a fairly good relationship with him for some reasons."

Wyatt was somewhat taken aback by what he heard.

Looking at Ailin's youthful face, barely fourteen or fifteen years old, all that came to his ears were titles like Duke and High Priest, which sounded completely unbelievable.

However, the thought of Ronnie Deakins' headless corpse in the lab immediately put Wyatt at ease.

It's not surprising that someone capable of killing Advanced Council member of the Conclave of Sorcerers, no matter how young, knows a few important figures.

"Why do I feel a little envious of Big Iron Shield and Furi?" Big Head scratched his head and looked at Little Head.

The little head sighed, "I was envious too. I was right next to Furi at the time. I should have waited a bit longer to press down the shield, then..."

"Bang! Bang!"

Two heavy punches interrupted the loud, secret conversation between Big Head and Little Head.

"What?" Wyatt gritted his teeth, veins bulging on his forehead. "Is it too much trouble for you to stay by my side?"

"Should we turn you into Big Iron Shield and Furi right now, so you don't have to walk a few extra steps?"

The Big Head and small-headed figures covered their heads and apologized repeatedly.

"Take this, it's their compensation," Wyatt tossed the money bag over. "After all, they shouldn't have died in vain..."

Ailin did not refuse again.

"And," Wyatt glanced at the two pale-faced shieldbearers, "Thank you, Ailin. I never thought Big Iron Hammer and Furi would have a chance to survive."

Ailin opened his mouth, about to say something.

A "Good Girl" fell from the sky.

With a few young witchers by his side, Vesemir carefully carried the two stretchers onto the back of the Greater Griffin.

"No, Wyatt."

Ailin glanced at Wyatt, then looked back at the giant city that stretched out from the jagged front of the forest, and said softly:

"I am the one who should say thank you."

——

They remained silent the entire way, Vesemir did not unlock Evans's Axii Sign.

Once the time limit has expired, a new one is added.

The mystery persisted until the magnificent, shimmering waters of the Pontal River were left behind, and the majestic mountains of Mahakam drew ever closer.

But dealing with Evans was not difficult; his fate was sealed the moment he chose to plot against the School of the Wolf.

The problem is that after Evans ' death, there will inevitably be attacks from the Redania and Rissberg Civil Conglomerate...

Both of these are behemoths compared to the current School of the Wolf.

No!

That's not all. If the mastermind behind Evans wasn't the Rissberg Civil Conglomerate, then there might be another party involved.

In an instant, the School of the Wolf seemed to have returned to the precarious state it was in when Ailin had just transmigrated.

"Or..."

Dante looked at Evans, hesitated for a few seconds, and then said tentatively:

"How about we release Evans?"