You Are the Promised Land Meritellie Gave Me

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

His body froze instantly, and he dared not move.

His gaze suddenly shifted upwards, staring at the owl that was peeking out from the roof beam with its little head, secretly observing him.

The owl shrank back, then reluctantly poked its head out again. Its tawny eyes, almost scarlet in the darkness, seemed eager to pounce.

Ailin glared at it again, only to find that the owl simply avoided his gaze.

I'll settle the score with Philippa Ehrert later... Ailin gritted her teeth.

If I had known it would turn out this way, I shouldn't have shown any mercy and should have just kicked her out...

Ailin's expression suddenly changed, and he grabbed the girl's hand, which was moving erratically without knowing its direction.

The girl's hands were soft yet cold, like the first snowfall of winter in Kaer Morhen, or the slender branches of a fallen maple tree bent under the weight of snow. They trembled uncontrollably upon touching his hands.

She was afraid.

If you're already this scared, why do you still have to do something reckless?

Ailin was both amused and exasperated.

However, this version of Lyra actually relieved him.

"Lyra," feeling the trembling touch against her back, Ailin carefully chose her words, speaking in as gentle a tone as possible, "If you were afraid, why did you come in the first place?"

"I... I'm not afraid!" As if to prove her courage, the little priest stubbornly and clumsily pressed herself against him, her hands still trying to move.

Ailin easily suppressed the girl's resistance with one hand. "You're trembling..."

The girl was silent for a moment, then asked in a trembling voice, "Why won't you accept me?"

"The old priests of the temple all say that the Witcher of the School of the Wolf never refuses a woman who comes to him. Don't you find me attractive at all?"

"Of course not," Ailin said. "You're beautiful, Lyra, strong yet gentle and considerate. How could you not be charming?"

"Of the nearly ten thousand people in Arland, who doesn't like you?"

After whispering a complaint in Ailin's ear, the girl sighed, "But if you don't deliberately think about it, you're much more mature than those gaudy, universally disliked male peacocks at aristocratic coming-of-age banquets, so..."

The girl paused, as if she had suddenly drawn on some inexplicable courage.

She wrapped her arms around his delicate arms, tightening them slightly, and rubbed against his back, near his heart, feeling a cold touch.

That was the girl's profile; she wanted to hear the voice of her beloved from the booming war drums.

"Why, Ailin? Why are you using this excuse to brush me off?" Her voice was extremely soft, like a question, or a plea, "Why won't you accept me? Do you hate me?"

The scent of daisies is like ocean waves crashing against rocks.

Ailin's heart skipped a beat for a moment.

"You like me," the little priest said firmly. "I heard it. You like me."

Ailin's breath hitched, and he almost agreed, but a gaze from the rooftop, hard to ignore, poured cold water on his enthusiasm.

Taking a deep breath, Ailin said softly, "No one would hate a girl like you, but I'm sorry, I don't have the energy to think about romance right now."

"Why?" the little priest asked in a hoarse voice.

Ailin remained silent for a long time. "Lyra, I am the Witcher."

"A witcher could die at any moment in any wilderness, in a ruined cave, or in a deserted corner of a forest..."

"You're no ordinary witcher!"

"But my enemies are no ordinary ones either," Ailin said in a deep voice after calming down, "Ban Ade, the Rissberg Civil Conglomerate, the Wild Hunt, the Evil God ..."

"Lyra, I'm not a good choice, and none of the Witchers are."

"Just as you said, we are promiscuous, cold-hearted, and face danger. Death's scythe is on the neck of every witcher, ready to fall at any moment."

Looking Little Eye at Geralt's women from his past life— the Sorceress Yennefer, Triss, Aurora of the Temple of Melitele, the bard Ash Dawn, and Shani of the Oxenfurt Academy —was any of them truly happy?

"You can stay and be Meritellie's Holy Son!" The little priest squeezed Ailin's hand tightly. "That way there will be no more danger, and Ianna, Nannick, and the priests in the temple all like you."

"I am a Witcher," Ailin sighed. "A Witcher of the School of the Wolf. Even after becoming the Holy Son of the Meritellie Cult, my identity as a Witcher will not change."

If the enemy were really just the Ben Ade and Rissberg Civil Conglomerate, or even the Wild Hunt, he might have agreed.

But the White Frost...

The White Frost that will destroy the world is the final judgment that no one on the Northern Continent can escape.

Even the whereabouts of the ancient child, Ciri, are unknown, and it is uncertain whether he will reappear. He may be White Frost's only solution.

How could Ailin possibly be at peace, quietly awaiting death, waiting for a White Frost that transcends all realms to kill him and freeze everything he cherished?

"You've escaped a fiery pit, and now you have a stable life, people who care about you, and a noble cause..."

His tone became increasingly calm.

"I can see that you enjoy being a priest, that you love saving people and healing the wounded, and that you derive satisfaction and joy from it. So don't step into another pit of fire..."

The little priest behind him remained silent for a long time, so long that Ailin thought the river of time had frozen at that moment.

"So..."

The young priest tentatively asked, "Is it really not because you hate me, not because of Francesca, Margarita, and Philippa Ehrhardt, but simply because we are 'young,' and there's the threat of warlocks and the Wild Hunt?"

Ailin:?

Can what I just said be understood from this perspective?

Is this a pit of fire you absolutely have to jump into?

besides...

Ailin glanced at the owl peeking out from the rafters.

Mary could understand, Francesca couldn't harden her case either. After all, from Lyra's perspective, the two of them did act somewhat intimately in Viscount Hudson's abandoned mines. But why was Philippa Ehrhardt there?

"Why is Philippa Ehrhardt here?" he couldn't help but ask. "I only met her today, and we probably didn't exchange more than ten words in the drawing room..."

What kind of image do I have in your heart?

The owl tilted its head curiously as well.

Lyra snorted in his ear, "You are an abstinent monk, but you can't help it that the nuns around you are not chaste."

"Especially Sorceress. I've heard that witchers and Sorceress experience a special kind of pleasure when their skin touches."

"Francesca and Margarita are both sorcerers, who can guarantee that the next one won't be Philippa Ehrhardt?"

"You make me sound like Tang Sanzang's flesh..." Ailin shook his head speechlessly.

Philippa Ehrhardt's ideal type is not him.

"You're overthinking it." Ailin shook his head, silently considering what to do next, how to resolve this matter as soon as possible, and how to prevent the owl on the roof beam, who had already had its fill of gossip, from getting any more bloated.

Lyra remained noncommittal.

Other witchers might overthink things, but Ailin is different; no one understands Ailin's uniqueness better than her.

Before the arrival of the evil god at the Temple of Meritelli, the sorceresses of Aretusa, besides Lady Vera, had met two other sorceresses, Francesca and Margarita Laux Antillie, both of whom had special feelings for Erin.

Francesca was even a princess of the Elf race.

Ailin is like the Safflower commonly used in the Temple of Melitele; not only is it brightly colored, but once it heals wounds, it can also be addictive if one is not careful.

Every Sorceress is prone to addiction; the more she comes into contact with Ailin, the easier it is for her to become addicted.

Will Philippa Ehrert really be exempt?

Besides, let alone Sorceress, so what if she isn't Sorceress?

Lyra sighed inwardly, inhaling deeply the bloody scent of security, and hugged the rock-hard body in her arms tightly.

"Lyra..."

"Don't speak, Ailin, don't speak." Lyra pressed her face against his back.

The warmth descends from the back, from where the heart is located, through the spine that runs across the middle of the chest cavity, separating the heart from the spine.

One drop, two drops, three drops...

A torrential downpour began to fall on the shirt.

"I will leave, Ailin. Before I leave, give me some more time..."

Ailin stared at the emptiness inside the wall and took a deep breath.

They remained silent like that, and I don't know how much time passed.

The heavy rain turned into light rain, and the light rain turned into overcast skies, but there was no sign of the sky clearing up.

"I'll wait for you, Ailin."

As the wooden bed creaked, Lyra withdrew her arms from around him.

Ailin listened as she slowly got up and rustled as she dressed.

Just when I was feeling inexplicably disappointed, the sweet fragrance of daisies came rushing in again like a tidal wave.

Ailin's cheek was gently kissed, like a flower falling and being blown away by the wind.

Leaving behind a single sentence, Lyra departed with a profound sense of emptiness and regret.

"You are not a pit of fire, you are the Promised Land given to me by the Goddess Meritellie."

——

The room remained silent for a long time.

The Promised Land is not just the divine kingdom in the doctrines of the Meritellie Cult; almost every religion in the Northern Continent has a divine kingdom that devout believers go to after death.

However, if we delve into the doctrine, the Promised Land seems to have a deeper meaning. It comes from the "The First Landing" of the northern peoples, it is an ideal country, a place of spiritual redemption, and the final destination.

"Tsk tsk, you are the Promised Land Meritellie gave me."

"The love of young people! How beautiful it is!"

Philippa Erhardt flapped her wings and descended, transforming into the beautiful Sorceress. Upon landing, she summoned clothing and slowly put it on before Ailin.

"The show is over, you can leave now."

Ailin sat on the edge of the bed, not even looking up at the erotic scene, and expressionlessly shooed people away.

He's no longer in the mood to play games with Philippa Ehrhardt.

The lingering fragrance of daisies, though its source has long since departed, still lingers and persists.

This should have been the best outcome; Lyra left without ruining their relationship.

But Ailin always felt that the oxygen in the room seemed to have been suddenly depleted, and it was as if the lungs, which convert oxygen, were inhaling not light oxygen, but heavy colloids, molten lava and iron.

"Do you think I'm joking?" Philippa Ehrhardt didn't care about Ailin's attitude, and bent down to pick up the stockings on her legs. "I'll stay here with you tonight, and I'll come with you to Kaer Morhen tomorrow."

"Whatever you want..." Ailin waved his hand weakly, got up and widened the window support bar a little more.

The night was pitch black, and all was silent.

The dense, gloomy woods in the temple resembled dark clouds on a stormy day, floating and sinking in the human world.

"Don't worry," Philippa Ehrert's voice suddenly came from behind him, "As long as we can rescue Henry Gedimidis, Ben Ade, the Rissberg Civil Conglomerate, and the Wild Hunt will be no problem."

"At that time, not only the Temple of Melitele, Aretuza, but even the Brotherhood of Sorcerers sweep away all obstacles in your path, and all obstacles in the path of your School of the Wolf."

"At that time, you will have plenty of time to travel and enjoy life with your priestesses and Sorceress."

Ailin glanced back at Philippa Ehrert and really wanted to ask, "Do you really know what's standing in the way of him and the School of the Wolf?"

Let alone White Frost, the Wild Hunt alone is something the Brotherhood of Sorcerers cannot contend with.

However, he could sense the concern hidden in the Sorceress's arrogant words, so he simply nodded, muttered "I hope so," and gave up his bed, sitting cross-legged on the floor and closing his eyes to meditate.

When I opened my eyes again, it was the next morning.

Philippa Ehrert had left the room at some point.

After quickly packing their luggage, Ailin met up with Vesemir, Dante, Fred, Ernie, and other young witchers in the open space in front of the Wooden Hut.

After chatting for a while and returning to the school, Philippa Ahart arrived on time through the portal after learning about Chieftain Soyer's possible attitude and the school's attitude.

Then the Good Girl descended from the sky, and Ianna and Nannick, along with many priests from the temple, came to say goodbye.

Lyra also arrived, hiding behind Ianna and Nannick, standing beside Nannick as usual, meeting his gaze calmly, as if nothing had happened the night before.

Next came Arthur and Sala, who came to see him off in place of Duke Mason, bringing with them the bounty for hunting ghouls.

That was a very large sum, far exceeding the agreed amount.

Not long after, a rough cry rang out.

The Greater Griffin took off from the ground.

"I'm home," Vesemir said with a sigh, but his tone lacked any real ease or joy.

Kaer Morhen still has a lot of trouble ahead of them.

Ailin looked down at the temple, which was shrinking and shrinking until it became a small cube, and the voice of the little priest echoed in his mind again.

"You're not a pit of fire..."

"You are the Promised Land the Goddess Meritellie gave me..."