Bold Lyra! Flames Both Cold and Blazing!

The night was pitch black.

Judging from the moon's altitude, it is now midnight, a time when people in both cities and rural areas should be asleep.

Outside the wooden window, a figure carrying a lantern approached from afar.

Lyra wasn't there for business, and Ailin quickly realized that.

Because her steps were very light, as if she were afraid of waking the keen-sensed Witcher, her pace was also very slow, with a faint hesitation between each step.

"What's wrong?"

The Sorceress beside him, her brows furrowed, followed Ailin's gaze to the window, but due to the angle, she could only see the swaying shadows of the trees.

Lyra was still far away, and Philippa Ehrert's senses were not as sharp as Ailin's.

Ailin paused for a few seconds, then turned to Philippa Ehrhardt: "I seem to have a new guest, so Ms. Ehrhardt, you..."

"A new customer? At this time?"

Philippa Ehrert became interested and gracefully went to the window. She glanced out, but could only see the dim, magnified light of the torch in the darkness.

She turned around and looked at Ailin in surprise.

How could this witcher detect such a commotion from so far away?

"I will stay," Philippa Ehrert thought for a moment and said. "If any uninvited guests do come, I can help you. You can only tell from their eyes, but I have indeed received special training in the Brotherhood of Sorcerers' disguise and identification."

"Uh... thank you," Ailin smiled helplessly, "But I know the person who came. They're not assassins from Drakkenberg or anywhere else, so there's no need for that trouble."

"Ms. Ahart can go back now and get some rest. We need to get up very early tomorrow to head to Kaer Morhen."

"But I wasn't planning on going back tonight," Philippa Ehrhardt blinked. "I had the butler clean up the room the headmaster was staying in inside the castle before I came."

"What? Is the person who came here very special? Should I leave?"

Upon hearing this, Ailin silently stared at the Sorceress before him for a long time.

The Sorceress smiled slightly, her words making it impossible to tell whether she was telling the truth or a lie.

"I only have one bed here, I'm afraid it's not very convenient..."

"Buzz~"

The Wolf Emblem hummed softly.

A flash of purple magical light disappeared in an instant, and as the clothes vanished, they transformed back into the gray-brown-feathered owl.

"Fluttering~"

The owl flapped its wings and flew to the oak table.

Philippa Ehrert's attitude is clear and needs no further explanation.

"Do I still need to leave?"

The owl looked up and stared straight at him, and then Philippa Ehrert's voice appeared in Ailin's mind.

Ailin thought for a moment, then took a deep breath. "No need, Ms. Erhart, just hide well and don't let anyone see you."

Anyway, even if you drive her away, Philippa Ehrhardt will most likely still be watching from the sidelines.

Given Philippa Ehrert's current behavior, this was absolutely inevitable, so she might as well be more open about it; there's nothing shameful about it anyway.

A look of satisfaction appeared in the owl's eyes.

"Don't worry! I'll protect you!"

She left a sentence in Ailin's mind, flapped her wings, and flew to the roof beam.

After gripping the roof beam with its two tiny claws, the owl winked at him, its large, bright topaz eyes shining in the darkness.

Ailin shook his head speechlessly.

Philippa Ehrhardt's protection was, of course, just a joke.

Not to mention Lyra's footsteps, he knew them so well that no one could fake them.

Even if a sorcerer risked being discovered by the temple and, in a short time, discovered that the person he was closest to in the temple was Lyra, and even managed to simulate Lyra's physique and gait in a very short time, it would still be impossible for him, a Witcher Master, to threaten him in close combat.

Moreover, any of the above possibilities is ridiculously low.

The one who came was Lyra.

"What brings Lyra here at this hour?"

Ailin, his right hand resting on the windowsill, preparing to climb over it.

At that very moment.

Lyra's footsteps suddenly stopped; she stopped in the small courtyard in front of the Wooden Hut.

In the darkness, Ailin, by the light of his lantern, saw Lyra clearly, and because of this, he paused and withdrew his hand from the windowsill.

Lyra wore a thin black silk shirt, which made her slightly thin but curvaceous figure stand out in the dim firelight.

The deep red dress was tied with a bow, and her slender legs, exposed to the air, were faintly visible through black stockings, which the Sorceress had recently invented and which had already become popular among the noblewomen of the entire Northern Continent.

In the dim firelight, Lyra's face appeared to have been carefully made up.

Bright red lips, and cheeks that were unnaturally pale and rosy.

From a distance, they don't look like the simple priests of the Temple of Melitele at all, but rather like noble ladies dancing gracefully at a ball.

Of course, as the Earl's legitimate daughter, Lyra is indeed a noblewoman in every respect.

But this is not a noble's ball, but a temple guest room where everyone is asleep in the dead of night.

Such an extravagant outfit is not the kind of attire one would wear when someone has something to say suddenly or when saying goodbye normally.

Ailin was even a little confused.

He had never seen Lyra like this before; in his mind, Lyra had always only had two appearances.

One is a vengeful young girl in the abandoned mines of Viscount Hudson, her teeth clenched and her eyes filled with hatred; the other is a kind, gentle, and considerate temple preparatory priestess dressed in the simple gray robes of a priestess at the Temple of Melitele.

He still vividly remembers the image of him, his face covered in dust and blood, wearily bandaging and treating the wounded after the May Festival.

The priestess had never been so stunningly beautiful.

"Where did she, a priestess of the Temple of Melitele, find so many gorgeous and luxurious clothes?" Ailin couldn't understand.

"Tap~ Tap~ Tap~"

Lyra paused for a moment, seemingly having made up her mind, then stamped her foot and walked straight toward his window.

"What should we do?" Ailin was inexplicably flustered.

He instinctively glanced up and met the owl's brown eyes.

The owl blinked, as if asking if she needed to step in.

"Shh-"

Ailin quickly shook his head, put his index finger to his lips, and gestured for him to be quiet and hide.

After glancing around the room, he gritted his teeth, took off his coat and shoes and socks, pulled back the covers, and lay down on the bed.

To make it even more realistic, he even simulated the continuous snoring of a young witcher.

In the blink of an eye, it seemed as if they had already fallen into a deep sleep.

The owl on the roof beam watched this scene and tilted its little head in confusion.

This scene definitely wasn't some sorcerer disguised as an acquaintance, after all, the leather armor with the sword strap was almost thrown to the other side of the room.

However, since Ailin had specifically instructed her to do so, she naturally remained silent. Instead, she listened to the approaching footsteps, peered out from under the roof beam, and looked out the window.

Philippa Ehrhardt had a feeling that what was about to happen might be quite interesting.

She stopped at the window, carrying a lamp.

The dim light of the lantern couldn't illuminate the darkness inside the window, but she knew she had arrived at her destination.

There's really no need to carry lanterns to lead the way.

In the past, through countless days and nights, in reality and in dreams, she had seen this window countless times, and could recognize it even with her eyes closed.

In the past, every time I came here, the plot would come to a standstill.

What she had to do next in reality was something she never even dared to dream of.

"Shall we go in?"

Will I be rejected or accepted?

"Once you take this step, there's no going back. Do you really want to do this?"

"But he's going back tomorrow, and who knows when he'll be able to come back again..."

"Kaer Morhen has Margarita, and next there will be Philippa Ehhart..."

"If I miss this chance, will I have another one?"

The night was as still as water, but in Lyra's mind, a noisy and turbulent tsunami was raging.

She was confident in her looks and her current attire. Shila, Gisela, and Sherina all said that all witchers were promiscuous, and no witcher would refuse a woman who offered herself to him. Ailin was undoubtedly a witcher, and Ailin wouldn't refuse her...

The logic is clear and straightforward.

But Lyra also knew that Ailin, though a Witcher, was no ordinary Witcher.

Ailin was unlike any other man in the Northern Continent.

Faint, almost imperceptible snoring could be heard from inside the window. The sound was so familiar that Lyra gripped the hem of her skirt tightly, her hands sweating with nervousness.

[Lyra, it doesn't matter who arrives first, what matters is who makes it to the end!]

Now that you have competitors, you should be even more proactive!

Do you want to be replaced?

Ms. Gisela's voice echoed in her mind again, and Lyra bit her tongue.

The pain brought her to her senses and strengthened her resolve once again.

She gently placed the lantern on the edge of the windowsill.

"Ding~"

The soft thud was exceptionally clear in my ears.

The continuous snoring stopped at that moment, causing her to instinctively hold her breath. Only after the snoring resumed did she lift her skirt and gently leap into the room.

Whether it was her imagination or not, the volume of her snoring seemed to increase significantly the moment she stepped into the room.

At this point, she should have realized that something was wrong.

After all, even if a witcher is fast asleep, it's impossible for someone to be this close without waking him up.

But something else caught her attention, causing her to furrow her brow slightly.

She smelled a natural fragrance that was different from the daytime scent, a floral fragrance that was both like roses and like monthly roses.

However, by the dim light of the fire, I looked around but didn't see any blooming flowers, not even the kinds I saw during the day.

If it weren't for Ailin's familiar snoring, Lyra might have even doubted that she had entered the wrong room.

"I already said we could keep it..." she muttered softly.

By evening, she had already figured out how to take care of the flowers and plants after he left.

Given the relationship between Ailin and the Temple of Melitele, most witchers wouldn't be this polite to their friends...

"How could someone like him be an ordinary witcher?" Lyra sighed inwardly.

She gently placed the lantern on the oak table and looked in the direction of the snoring.

Ailin lay on his side with his back to her.

"Still not awake?"

Lyra sensed something was wrong.

She took a few more steps closer, but the frequency of her snoring remained unchanged.

At this moment, even the most oblivious person would know that the Witcher in bed had long since woken up, let alone Lyra had successfully advanced from apprentice to priest in just a few months.

Realizing this, she nervously gripped the hem of her skirt, but remained silent.

At this moment, Lyra was not the only one who was equally nervous.

The owl cautiously peered out from the roof beam, its large, yellowish-brown eyes filled with excitement, its sharp claws digging deep into the wood.

Ailin focused intently on controlling his body, preventing his rapidly beating heart from affecting his breathing and the feigned snoring.

To be honest, he could look at Philippa Ehrhardt's naked body indifferently and calmly say "beautiful," and even if Philippa Ehrhardt asked again "what's beautiful about it," he could still praise her from head to toe without changing his expression.

But when faced with Lyra, whose attire was only more elaborate and glamorous than usual, Ailin felt flustered and at a loss.

He knew Lyra must have realized he was pretending to be asleep, and he hoped Lyra would wake him up or simply leave.

He could naturally explain the former, then say goodbye to her and persuade her to go back.

The latter is even better, as if nothing ever happened tonight.

But the girl he rescued from underground seemed unwilling to do either.

She stood there quietly for a while, seemingly considering something...

She took one step closer, two steps, three steps... and walked to the bedside.

Ailin could hear the rapid, tense breathing clearly, which made him nervous and his mind went blank.

What is she trying to do?

Then...

He heard the girl take a deep breath.

"Rustle, rustle~"

With a slight, strange sound, something slipped and fell from mid-air to the ground.

then...

One, two, three...

Ailin, who had heard all of this, was completely stunned.

For some reason, he suddenly remembered Lyra's unexpectedly carefree, resolute, and decisive expression when she left the reception hall at nightfall, as if she had figured something out and made a certain decision.

But he never expected it to be this kind of determination!

The reason he instinctively ran away just now was because he felt that Lyra wanted to confess her feelings to him. This sudden attack left him unsure how to respond.

He certainly had feelings for Lyra, and he also had feelings for Mary.

But right now it's Ban Ade, the Rissberg Civil Conglomerate, the Wild Hunt and White Frost, it's really far from time to get sentimental!

If something were to happen to him, the emotional damage would definitely be deeper if the relationship were established than if it weren't.

Moreover, this has nothing to do with whether it will cause delays or not; he is only fourteen years old, and Lyra and Mary are not much older either.

They have plenty of time to cultivate their relationship and determine if they are compatible as they spend time together.

not to mention...

They didn't even spend a month together in real time...

Lyra...

Etc!

Ailin suddenly jolted awake, as if he had just remembered something.

Philippa Ehrhardt is still on the roof beam!

Just as he stopped pretending and stood up, wanting to turn around and say something...

A ball of cold yet intense flame enveloped him from behind.