The Circle of Elements.
Vesemir gazed out at the Blue Mountains in silence.
Paul and the other two waited anxiously.
A man in a black-and-red leather jacket emerged from a corner.
"Eskel, how are Arwen and Aiken?"
"By the goddess Melitele, Arwen and Aiken must be all right."
The moment Paul and the other two saw him, they crowded around him.
Vesemir turned around, frowning.
Eskel had been heading down the mountain for less than an hour. At his pace, he could not even have reached Old Spearhead's cave, so why had he returned so soon?
Eskel walked past the three, and Vesemir asked, "What happened?"
"It's over."
"Over?" Vesemir looked puzzled.
"Yes."
Eskel offered no further explanation. He merely shrugged and stepped aside, motioning for everyone to look behind him.
They looked, and a black-haired boy entered their view, carrying Aiken on his shoulder, drenched in blood and trudging heavily.
A massive head covered with a bloodstained cloth hung at the boy's waist.
Its lifeless, clouded eye swayed constantly like a bell.
Vesemir's cat eyes narrowed, as did the others'.
That was Old Spearhead's head!
Then came utter silence, so quiet that everyone held their breathing low and could hear the rustle of leaves in the wind.
Winston rubbed his eyes, looking utterly incredulous. "Hell, is this a Foglet's illusion? Arwen and Aiken came back alive."
Paul dug his thumb hard into the web of his hand. The sharp pain assured him he was not hallucinating.
Gulp!
He could not help swallowing. "It's real. This is real. Arwen killed Old Spearhead?!"
"Goddess Melitele, good heavens!" Horton's expression was one of absolute shock.
Even Vesemir was a little dazed.
His gaze shifted to Eskel beside him, who flashed the ogroid oil in his belt pouch. "Old man, looks like our Kaer Morhen is going to produce someone extraordinary."
Seeing them standing frozen as though they had seen a ghost, Arwen hurriedly said, "Quick, Aiken's badly hurt."
Vesemir snapped out of it and immediately stepped forward, helping Arwen lay Aiken on a blanket nearby.
Vesemir reached out and pried open Aiken's left eye. His slit pupil was slightly constricted, his face as pale as paper, and his lips bluish.
He examined the right arm as well and said gravely, "He fainted from excessive blood loss. There are quite a few abrasions on his body, especially his right arm. Something heavy crushed it, causing multiple fractures, but..."
His brows drew together slightly. He bent down and sniffed. At the same time, the wolf's-head medallion on his chest gave a faint tremor.
"Residual magical energy. It's... it's a Healing Spell!"
Shock flashed in his eyes as he looked at Arwen in disbelief.
Arwen nodded in response.
A witcher could cast magic?
Vesemir's heart raced, and a term sprang into his mind.
The perfect witcher.
According to the theory of Alzur, the founder of the witchers, the so-called perfect witcher was a combination of magic and chivalry, like a melee mage, rather than someone who cast a few crude Signs.
Amid his shock, he called out, "Eskel, [Black Gull], [Golden Oriole], a stretcher, bandages, and comfrey ointment!"
Before he had finished speaking, Eskel had already brought what Vesemir needed.
Vesemir first picked up the black potion bottle, pulled out its oak stopper, and gave it to Aiken to drink.
[Black Gull] was a hallucinogenic potion containing toxins that could give witchers pleasant dreams and ease their pain.
However, Vesemir generally forbade witchers from using it. It was only used when treating unbearably painful wounds.
For recreation, there was a milder potion, [White Gull].
Next came [Golden Oriole] to stop the bleeding. After two vials, Aiken's tightly knitted brows relaxed considerably.
Then came setting the bones and applying the medicine.
The setting sun sank in the west.
Vesemir wiped the sweat from his forehead with a towel, straightened up, and let out a long breath.
Aiken's upper body was wrapped in bandages like a white zongzi, leaving only a pair of weary cat eyes exposed.
He looked at Arwen beside him with gratitude.
"Come on, let's head over there and let him rest here for a while. There's still a ceremony to hold tonight."
Arwen nodded and followed Vesemir to a wall nearby.
Paul and Winston quickly gathered around. They were intensely curious about how Arwen had killed Old Spearhead.
Eskel and Horton, meanwhile, had gone to Killer Lake.
A Cyclops's corpse was an extremely valuable alchemical material, scarcely inferior to a dragon's, and had to be retrieved as soon as possible.
Vesemir spoke. "Tell us, Arwen. How did you do it?"
Paul and Winston looked expectant. For a moment, it was like returning to the winter gatherings at Kaer Morhen, when everyone sat around a table eating roast venison and listening to Vesemir recount his experiences and the legendary tales of the seven witchers engraved on the walls.
Now, however, the storyteller was no longer Vesemir, but Arwen.
Arwen gave them a rough account of what had happened, deliberately concealing everything about his system.
"In short, the Ancient Foglet brought a pack of Foglets to take revenge on Old Spearhead. I only survived by hiding in the lake."
"As for killing Old Spearhead, that was only because the Ancient Foglet had badly wounded him, letting me swoop in and reap the benefits."
After hearing him out, Paul and the other two clicked their tongues in wonder, their eyes gaining a look of admiration as they regarded Arwen.
Vesemir looked gratified. He asked for a few more details about the Ancient Foglet, then fell into thought.
"It could imitate my swordsmanship. That's already beyond the scope of an Ancient Foglet. To think a monster like that was hiding in the Blue Mountains. With Old Spearhead dead, it'll probably dominate this area. This needs a thorough investigation."
Arwen looked thoughtful.
As for where it had learned his swordsmanship, Vesemir did not dwell on it.
He had killed monsters in the Blue Mountains countless times. Perhaps the Ancient Foglet had been watching from nearby on one of those occasions.
"Rustle, rustle..."
Something heavy crushed the shrubs, making them crack and snap.
Eskel, Horton, and Scorpion were hauling a wooden sled with silver chains. On it lay a Foglet's head and a headless corpse the size of a small hill.
The two men and the horse trudged up the mountain one heavy step at a time.
Vesemir and the others hurried over. Even after hearing the account, they were still stunned at the sight of the enormous creature.
Paul and the other two, in particular, looked at Arwen with even greater respect.
"Hoot, hoot, hoot..."
An owl's calls rang out from the woods. The sky darkened, and stars gradually emerged from behind the clouds.
Vesemir's rough palm brushed the wolf's-head medallion on his chest.
"Eskel, apply some more Necrophage Oil to Old Spearhead's corpse. I'll go make preparations."
"Boys, congratulations. You've passed the trial. Go wake Aiken and have something to eat. The most important moment, the presentation of your medallions, is almost here."