Ailin Is a Good Kid

The moment the cool Essence Fluid slid down his throat, Ailin delightedly discovered that the strange discomfort in his muscles had noticeably lessened.

A warm current, even hotter than the last time he had used it, quickly spread from his stomach throughout his body.

In a daze, Ailin felt as if he were soaking in a slightly hot spring, so comfortable that he nearly made a sound.

Once the warm current vanished from inside the body, the pain, numbness, and itching in his muscles disappeared as well.

Heart Essence Fluid could even accelerate the absorption of "lunch"!

Ailin, who had suffered greatly from the strange mushroom soup, nearly cried out in surprise.

Over these past ten days, the apprentices' daily routine had consisted of lessons in the morning and absorbing potions in the afternoon and evening.

If he had enough Essence Fluid, Ailin could free up at least two-thirds of his time.

He opened his character panel.

Attributes: Strength 5.5 (+0.2), Agility 5.6 (+0.2), Constitution 6.2 (+0.6), Perception 7.9 (+0.7), Mystery 3.5 (+0.2)

His total attributes had directly increased by 1.9 as well.

That was nearly double what Ailin had estimated.

I suddenly kind of like drowners, Ailin mused.

He took a deep breath and slowly calmed his excitement.

After his attributes suddenly improved, his Witcher Senses became exceptionally sharp.

As Ailin gradually calmed down, he picked up a great deal of information from within the dormitory.

Sweat brought on by pain, unceasing gasps of agony, low growls suppressed deep in their throats...

The creaking of wooden bedboards shattered against the cold, hard walls.

Other than him, everyone in the dormitory was suffering.

Thinking of how the other apprentices were all children under thirteen, the joy of his gains immediately faded considerably.

A thought suddenly surfaced in his mind.

Should he share the Essence Fluid with them?

Ailin sighed and silently apologized to them in his heart.

When poor, one tended to oneself; when prosperous, one aided the world.

He was not yet qualified to aid the world.

At least, not now.

It was already late autumn.

The witchers who had gone traveling gradually returned, hurrying back to Kaer Morhen to spend the winter before heavy snow sealed off the mountains.

From the day the first witcher returned to Kaer Morhen, bonfires would be lit in the two-man-high fireplaces of the castle hall.

Lively feasts would continue without pause from morning until night.

They would last until the spring equinox arrived and the ice and snow melted.

After bidding the apprentices farewell, Vesemir arrived at the castle hall.

The moment he entered, a wave of heat mixed with boisterous voices rushed toward him.

More than twenty witchers sat around the dining table, boasting to one another about what they had seen and heard over the past year.

Vesemir casually found a seat, accepted the mug of beer handed over by a companion, and took a satisfying swig.

"Haah..."

He let out a long, contented breath.

Vesemir turned toward the companion who had handed him the drink and casually started a conversation.

"Dante, I heard our king declared war on the Long-ears again."

Dante had only returned to Kaer Morhen today. Witchers on the road home always deliberately gathered intelligence.

"Declared war? At most, it was just raiding," the witcher Dante said, shaking his head. After taking a bite of bread, he continued, "Besides, your information is already outdated. That war, involving fewer than a hundred people, ended two months ago."

"I was training apprentices this year and never left Kaer Morhen. Leto was the one who told me about the declaration of war."

Vesemir shrugged, then asked.

"Tell me everything you know."

"What?" Dante asked curiously. "Do you have an old flame among the Long-ears?"

Vesemir's face darkened. "If I'm asking, then talk! Stop going off on tangents."

Having failed to dig up any gossip, Dante smacked his lips regretfully.

"War, war. What year goes by without war?"

"The nobles sound their horns, and the mud-footed peasants run forward holding sticks."

"Once the melee is over, only the king and the Ghouls get to eat their fill."

"No, no, no. The Ghouls might fill their bellies, but The Glutton might not," Leto said as he approached with a wine jug.

"The Glutton" was the common folk's "honorific" for Haxor, king of Kedwen.

"Perhaps."

Dante filled his cup, then said thoughtfully.

"Haxor's actions were very strange. He claimed to be declaring war on the Long-ears, but his excuse was that elves had stolen his jewels."

"An excuse?" Vesemir asked curiously. "You don't think it was true?"

Dante nodded and explained.

"No matter who stole the jewels, he could have simply issued a wanted notice."

"Don't you think it's absurd to declare war on an entire race over that?"

"Besides, on my way back to Kaer Morhen, I ran into the king's personal guard. They seemed to be searching for someone."

Leto asked tentatively, "Are you sure they were Haxor's personal guards? Don't they never leave the royal court?"

"Black Unicorn cloaks on a yellow background. I wouldn't mistake them," Dante continued. "And I saw three Sorcerers in their ranks."

At those words, Vesemir and Leto exchanged looks.

Leto said, "That really is strange. But if they were looking for someone, didn't they ask you to help?"

The most important part of hunting monsters was tracking them down from sparse, incomplete clues.

Footprints, bloodstains, scents—so long as clues existed, they could not escape a witcher's sharp senses.

Over time, every witcher became a natural detective.

"Not only did they not ask, they seemed to be deliberately avoiding me." Dante scratched his head irritably. "I keep feeling that something is wrong, but I just can't figure out what."

Seeing Dante grow upset over a topic he had casually brought up, Vesemir felt somewhat guilty and consoled him.

"If you can't figure it out, then don't think about it."

"At the end of the day, this is a conflict between the elves and the king of Kedwen. It has nothing to do with our School of the Wolf."

"We remain neutral."

Dante nodded at that and took a drink.

Yet his tightly furrowed brow made it easy to see that he had not let the matter go.

Seeing the atmosphere grow somewhat stiff, Leto raised his cup and said.

"Let's not talk politics while we're eating."

"Let's switch to something more interesting."

Vesemir nodded in agreement, then noticed Leto's amused smile.

His heart immediately skipped a beat, and Vesemir sensed that things were not so simple.

"What interesting thing?" Dante asked curiously.

"Vesemir lost his Elsa to an apprentice." Even with Vesemir's masterful skills, he still failed to stop Leto's mouth.

Dante asked hesitantly, "Elsa...? That silver sword worth more than ten thousand Oren?"

"17,325 Oren. Yes, exactly the sword you're thinking of."

"What! Vesemir, is that true?"

Dante shouted in astonishment.

Even in the noisy hall, his booming voice drew particular attention.

The other witchers at the table all turned their attention toward them.

At that moment, Vesemir's face was as dark as the charcoal in the fireplace.

As if he had anticipated something, Vesemir did not answer. Instead, he raised his cup high and hid his eyes behind it.

"Hahaha, absolutely true. Let me tell you..." After laughing heartily, Leto recounted what had happened that morning.

A few witchers nearby who had witnessed it personally also cheerfully chimed in to fill in the missing details.

As the story rose and fell.

The witchers sitting farther away also pricked up their ears and gradually stopped talking.

Before long, Leto's voice was the only one left in the hall.

"...That was more or less what happened."

Leto finished the story with considerable embellishment, then took a sip of beer to wet his throat.

The silence at the dining table lasted only a few seconds before it erupted like boiling water.

Among the witchers, some praised the apprentice's skill, some confirmed the silver sword's price, and some good-naturedly mocked Vesemir...

Naturally, some were also interested in the Witcher's Eye.

Unfortunately, none of the witchers at the table enjoyed visiting the library, so naturally no one could answer.

"Although I don't know what the Witcher's Eye is, it seems you didn't lose unfairly," Dante said, patting Vesemir on the shoulder in consolation.

Vesemir sighed, seeming to come to terms with something, and drained the beer in his cup in one gulp.

After wiping the foam from his beard, Vesemir thought for a moment, then nodded and admitted.

"His swordsmanship is skilled, his mind is sharp, and he can remain calm and rational even when faced with setbacks."

"Ailin is a good kid!"

"I truly did not lose unfairly."

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