The first thing that came into view was the castle's spires—sharp and jagged like war-worn, rusted spears—piercing straight into the pitch-black night sky.
Night had fallen, yet Drakenborg remained brightly lit.
Squads of guards patrolled along the winding walls, torches in hand. Below the walls flowed a moat, likely fed by the Duppa River.
The drawbridge had already been raised, but guards still stood watch at the castle gate.
Inside the castle, tall buildings and high walls loomed. On both sides of towering stone bridges, when viewed from above, they resembled glowing red iron bars sealing away some massive, slumbering monster beneath the castle.
The entire castle was built atop a sizable rocky mountain—very much like Vergen Stonehold on the border of Aedirn. Both felt as though a mountain had been hollowed out to raise a colossal stronghold.
But the layout within Drakenborg was clearly more chilling, more steeped in a lethal aura than Vergen.
It was obvious—this place wasn't built to be lived in.
Looking down at the fortress named Dragon City, Allen found it hard to understand.
A castle could be a fortress to fend off enemies, a wall to guard humanity, or even a bustling center of prosperity...
All those configurations could, of course, include a heavily guarded prison.
But why would there be a castle that, from its very conception, seemed destined to be nothing more than a massive prison?
Where would Redania even get that many non-human prisoners, given how sparse those races already were?
"It's just as eerie as ever down there—even standing hundreds of meters above it," Vesemir said, drawing a circle in the air with his right hand in the direction of the castle to signal the griffin to circle. He needed to use the lights below to get a better sense of direction. "That deep eeriness is one reason witchers avoid this place."
"If possible, witchers would prefer a slightly better work environment. A prison certainly isn't an ideal job site for someone from the School of the Wolf... though those cat-school bastards seem to enjoy coming here."
"You've been here before?" Allen asked, withdrawing his gaze and commanding the griffin to begin circling.
Though the clouded sky had neither stars nor moon to offer bearings, so long as the griffin stayed quiet and didn't release its fearsome aura, they didn't have to worry about being spotted by the guards below.
"Once," Vesemir said, holding up a single finger. "It's the kind of place a School of the Wolf witcher visits once and never wants to come back to again… Hmm… I'd rate it even worse than Ban Ard."
"But truth be told, because of the environment, neither the nearest Wolf nor Griffin witchers are eager to take jobs here. That's why the bounties from Drakenborg are so high."
"What kind of monsters do those contracts deal with?"
"All kinds," Vesemir said, stroking the beard on his chin. "From the basics—drowners, rotfiends… to wraiths that pop up in every prison from time to time… even vampires and werewolves show up to feed occasionally."
"Drakenborg dates back to the era of the Elven Courts. Redania only did minor refurbishing. There are probably hundreds of hidden tunnels within it. After every few years of disrepair or partial collapse, some strange new thing always seems to crawl out."
"So in truth, no one really knows how many monsters are inside Dragon City."
"Of course, in recent years it's been more mundane—mostly just clearing out clusters of drowners in the moat, or necrophages drawn by the scent of blood."
"Some say the real reason non-humans are imprisoned here is to use their lives to lure out all the monsters hidden in Drakenborg… to make this castle truly usable for humans."
"You don't believe that?" Allen picked up on the scorn in Vesemir's tone.
"Of course," Vesemir curled his lip, "there aren't many nobles in this world who value the lives of commoners that much. If they didn't just happen to look alike, that war might've beaten them back into the mud where they came from…"
"Maybe nobles don't even want to admit they're the same species as humans—biologically speaking."
"But then again, most northern kings and nobles probably have non-human blood in their veins… especially from elves, who were savagely persecuted by humans."
"No one finds it odd that so many monsters show up?" Allen asked, puzzled.
"After several groups of people went missing, nobody really found it odd anymore... Send Good Girl over there for a moment," Vesemir pointed to the deep shadows beside Drakenborg, faintly reflecting torchlight.
Allen gave a mental command, and Good Girl flapped her wings a few times and flew over the area—hovering above a dense forest.
"Not there. That must be a tributary. Head back," Vesemir said after observing for a while and shaking his head.
On maps, the Duppa River appeared to run straight through Drakenborg, but in reality, it had been redirected to flow around the castle entirely.
And with the castle surrounded by dense, rarely-trodden woods, it was difficult to tell which part was the main river channel.
"Dragon City… Dragon City…" Vesemir murmured. "There's likely a convergence point hidden somewhere in Drakenborg—but buried very deep. Otherwise, the Brotherhood of Sorcerers wouldn't have left a place like this to rot as just a prison for non-humans..."
In the original legends, dragons represented the power of "chaos."
Chaos was the force or energy that stood opposed to order—and the source of magic for all spellcasters.
A convergence point was essentially a higher-tier concentration of magical energy—in other words, the original form of sources like "elemental circles" and "places of power."
According to ancient elven lore, around 1,400 years ago, an unusual event occurred on the northern continent: the "Conjunction of the Spheres."
Put simply, it was when another dimension overlapped with the Northern Realm's dimension. The overlapping parts were like bubbles that trapped certain "unnatural beings" not native to this world.
These beings—such as vampires—mostly existed outside of the normal ecosystem, were unable to reproduce, and were considered relics of an unnatural disaster. Witchers were created to hunt them.
It was also during this "Conjunction of the Spheres" that humans crossed the sea to this continent. They quickly learned to draw magical power from "convergence points" and used that power to conquer the native races—elves and dwarves.
These "convergence points" still exist all over the world like bubbles.
In nature, there are two kinds of creatures that can instinctively sense and absorb power from convergence points: cats, which like to sleep near them, and dragons, which hoard magic-infused treasures. So Vesemir's theory wasn't far-fetched.
The only strange part was—why did this place end up as a prison for non-human races?
"Are there really that many non-human prisoners?" Allen frowned as he looked down at the fortress, about the same size as Erland.
"Who said Drakenborg only holds prisoners?"
Vesemir glanced back at Allen with a meaningful look.
Not prisoners… Allen was momentarily stunned by those words.
"Alright, we've roughly figured out the direction," Vesemir didn't dwell on that question and continued explaining. He exhaled deeply and pointed to a dark spot beneath Good Girl, "Should we go down to investigate, or fly straight to the source of the Duppa River?"
"Let's go straight," Allen snapped back to attention and glanced once more at the brightly lit Drakenborg castle. "The forest will guide us and we won't get lost…"
Compared to facing the monsters Hughes called 'gods,' humans—who have long imprisoned, hunted, and tortured the innocent—might be even scarier…
Besides…
Drakenborg is so close to where Bond, Fred, and Danthe disappeared. Could it really just be a coincidence?
--------------------
"Splash, splash~"
A trickling stream seeped from a crack in the ground, flowing northwest toward the sharp tip of Drakenborg's watchtower, darker than the night itself.
On both sides stood blue-black oak woods, their twisted branches thick with rugged patterns, like silent watchers observing any intruder in the forest.
"No way…"
Allen's face darkened as he stood from the damp, dark humus soil. Sticky mud stubbornly clung to his dark red greaves.
"Vesemir, nature just rejected me."
In the past, even in the burning Passolon Forest, the Mother of Nature only severed contact because her killing intent was too wild and violent.
But just now, though her spiritual wave remained gentle, kind, and bright, the moment he asked about the Witchers' whereabouts, the spiritual wave suddenly became sluggish and then cut off the link with him in less than two seconds.
Since using "Beast Roar: Wild Speech," he had never been so cleanly rejected—like… like…
This oak forest already had a lord, a lord acknowledged by the Mother of Nature.
And Bond, Fred, and Danthe were that lord's prey.
Prey in a life-or-death savage hunt…
"The Leshen…" Vesemir frowned. "It must be him lurking in this forest. He's a demigod of the woods, the natural incarnation worshipped by druids, born in the darkness and primal nature, a powerful and terrifying guardian…"
"Although I don't know how your 'Wild Speech' works, it's normal to be no match for the Leshen in the natural realm."
"What should we do then?" Clay asked anxiously. "Is there any other way to find Bond and Fred?"
"And Danthe too…" Ice added quietly.
"Don't panic!" Vesemir scolded softly. "Have you forgotten what I taught you before?"
"What you need to do now isn't to panic here, but to remember the exact time when the Quen shield fades, replenish it in time, maintain a vigilant formation in the forest, watch your own sector carefully, and be ready to cast the Yrden sign, along with using the Cat's Eye potion…"
"Yes, Master Vesemir."
The seven young Witchers immediately spread out a few steps around Allen, their eyes fixed on the pitch-black forest.
"Danthe is a Witcher master with more experience than me. He might not be able to defeat this Leshen in a rush, but he will definitely survive," Vesemir whispered close to Allen's ear. "And although Danthe is usually conservative, he's never the kind to abandon his comrades or apprentices…"
"I know…" Allen pushed away the anxiety in his heart and took a deep breath. "Looking on the bright side, even though the Mother of Nature rejected me, it means at least one of Bond, Fred, or Danthe is still alive…"
The Mother of Nature didn't refuse the connection to the "Wild Speech" at first—it was only after Allen asked about the Witchers' whereabouts that she cut off the link.
If all three Wolf School Witchers were dead, there'd be no need to refuse like that.
Vesemir nodded and asked, "Is there really no other way?"
Allen didn't answer. He closed his eyes, gathering the Beast Roar energy flowing through his blood, then gently parted his lips.
"Uirs…"
As if whispering, ripples spread across the lake's surface.
From near to far, a circle of waves formed by many small red dots lit up.
This was a technique Allen had refined over the past few days using "Beast Roar: Whisper of Life" to search for corpse-eating creatures.
He didn't need to collect every life signal within the roar's range; it was like setting a filter.
The ripple of Whisper of Life scanning passed over living things, ignoring insects and small animals outside the filter, only feeding back information about lifeforms roughly the size of a normal human.
A simple but very practical little trick.
"Let's go deeper into the forest…" Allen opened his eyes and gently shook his head.
The temple was almost entirely covered, which was not small, but in this vast woodland, it still wasn't enough.
As for tracking...
Although Hughes said the source of the Duppa River, there were no footprints nearby, nor any signs of a fight.
Maybe "the source of the Duppa River at Drakenberg" was just what Hughes thought—a landmark closest to where they were attacked...
Or perhaps the lord of this forest quietly erased their traces here...
But no footprints, and the scent quickly metabolized by the oak forest—both tracking methods were useless.
Wild Speech, Whisper of Life, two tracking skills...
Four skills, and none of them worked. Allen had never encountered such a situation before...
This was tricky...
"Don't worry too much," Vesemir ruffled Allen's hair. "A Witcher master of the Wolf School, one of the strongest batches ever to pass the mountain trial—just one Leshen can't have erased every trace."
Allen took a deep breath and steadied himself. "Danthe took two apprentices and either headed toward the Kestrel Mountains or the nearby Modian River…"
"Considering that Danthe and his group all have Killer Whale potions, and Hughes escaped by water, let's head for the Modian River first…"
"That's right!" Vesemir smirked and slapped Allen's shoulder firmly. "A qualified Witcher's most important assets are never just strength, signs, and skills, but cautious behavior and a flexible mind!"
"Follow me north!" he shouted to the others.
"Erni, Klar, watch your comrades carefully, keep the formation, and don't wait for the Quen shield to disappear before using signs…"
"Understood, Master Vesemir!"
Thus, the Good Girl (the griffin) released pressure in the sky, deterring other monsters.
The nine Witchers of the Wolf School cautiously headed north toward the Modian River.
After a long time,
When the moon tonight first emerged slender and graceful from the clouds—
"Buzz buzz~"
The fierce wolf-head medallions all hummed together.
.....
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