The Witcher: Wolf School's Hunting Notes

"Are you insane?"

Miguel's incredulous shout echoed across the ruins.

Through Giambattista's spatial isolation barrier, he could still see the thick black smoke and flames outside.

If not for Dean Hen Gedymdeith sacrificing his life force to unleash Geoffrey Monck's Crimson Eye, the very ground on which he now stood would have been engulfed in flames and billowing black smoke.

The Wild Hunt—those skeletal knights—were indeed as the legends described: harbingers of disaster and destruction...

No!

They 'were' disaster and destruction incarnate!

"I'm not insane!"

Sunny crouched down and gently turned Lyon over.

The bloodstains and dirt couldn't completely conceal the young face, and the steady rise and fall of his chest signaled life.

"He's just unconscious."

He sighed in relief, took a potion from his wide sleeves, fed a small amount to Lyon, then stood up and faced Miguel.

"I'm not insane," he repeated. "Two days ago, I was standing closer than you were, one of the first to engage those monsters, one of the first to be defeated by the Wild Hunt's magic—and one of the very few to survive unscathed."

"Then you should know—"

"I do know," Sunny interrupted. "Their spells are each on par with those of a master sorcerer. The structure of their magic is even more stable, balanced, and refined than any master-level spell I've ever encountered, as though the spells they cast represent the ultimate form of elemental manipulation."

"How... how could you observe all that so clearly?" Miguel widened his eyes in disbelief. "You were analyzing the composition and structure of their spells while fighting those monsters?"

"I had no strength to fight," Sunny chuckled bitterly. "I was flung into the academy's protective walls, buried under rubble, observing through the cracks…"

"Like a coward."

"And that's why I survived."

Miguel patted his shoulder lightly in consolation. "I was trembling with fear, too, completely paralyzed. My mind went blank, and all I could think of was casting shields on myself."

"It wasn't until Dean Hen Gedymdeith took action that I finally snapped out of it…"

It's hard for someone who hasn't been there to understand, but Miguel knew exactly how Sunny felt.

A sky filled with colorful, blinding magic, raining down like an overwhelming tidal wave.

The sheer elemental force alone felt like an icy hand gripping one's heart, suffocating.

At that moment, Miguel felt like a novice who couldn't even cast a simple light spell, unable to hold his staff steady.

Run!

That was the only thought that flashed through his mind.

"But that's still no reason for you to send someone to track them," Miguel said, regaining his composure from the haunting memories. He gestured toward the unconscious sorcerer on the ground. "You knew the dangers, even witnessed their power firsthand. Why send someone to their death?"

"It wasn't sending them to die," Sunny refuted. "The reason the Wild Hunt was able to utterly defeat us before the Dean intervened wasn't because they're truly gods, demons, or mythical calamities…"

"No! They're not! They're a group of sorcerers just like us. They chant spells, use gestures, and rely on mental energy…"

"And many of them, I dare say, have less mental energy than you…"

Miguel frowned. "Are you certain?"

"I saw it clearly." Sunny took a deep breath. "The reason they seem so invincible, god-like, is solely because their magic is more intricately constructed, maximizing elemental power, and they possess some mysterious means of replenishing their mental energy."

"It's like…"

He replayed the scenes in his mind.

"It's like how we face rogue sorcerers…"

"Exactly!" Sunny grabbed Miguel's hand, his excitement rising. "It's like when we deal with those rogue sorcerers who pick up fragmented incantations from hearsay or the black market, fumbling to piece them together."

"With our potions and stronger, less costly spells, we naturally overpower them. A single sorcerer from Ban Ard can take down a group of rogue sorcerers."

The more Sunny thought about it, the more convinced he became, his tone growing fervent.

"But even though Ban Ard sorcerers are stronger than untrained rogues, if ambushed, outnumbered, or up against a particularly talented rogue, they can still retreat, fail, or even die…"

"Isn't that exactly what happened when the Dean appeared the other night?"

"When Geoffrey Monck's Crimson Eye opened and closed, even the legendary Wild Hunt suffered heavy losses…"

"'Heavy losses' is debatable," Miguel shook his head. "The Wild Hunt didn't leave a single corpse behind—not one."

Sunny countered, "That could be another spell we don't understand. At the very least, they retreated, didn't they?"

"At first, they tried to force us to hand over the still-unknown Gate of Ard Gaeth, but in the end, they simply raided the dangerous experimental vault and fled with something."

"Maybe, under their steel armor, they're bleeding and gravely wounded…"

Miguel fell silent for a moment.

Sunny waved off a few apprentices who had sneaked out of their dormitories upon sensing something unusual.

"Is that why you sent someone to track them?" Miguel asked.

"Aren't you curious about such powerful foes—the legendary Wild Hunt?" Sunny shot back, pointing to the ruins outside the academy. "They're already strong enough to destroy an entire city in moments. Why are they seeking the so-called Gate of Ard Gaeth?"

"After sustaining heavy injuries, why would they desperately steal dangerous experimental items… what you called Jenks's relic?"

"What exactly is it that they value so highly?"

"And another thing…"

Sunny paused. "Will they… come back?"

Miguel shivered involuntarily at the thought.

He had been avoiding that question for the past two days.

"I originally only wanted to investigate the stolen relic," Sunny said, gripping Miguel's shoulders tightly. "But now… The Dean is old and wounded, secluded in recovery. Who knows how long it will take for him to resume leadership?"

"For a long time, the academy may rely on us to hold things together."

"Given the current state, the nobles of Kaedwen are unlikely to aid us. The women of Aretuza, the Druids, and the clergy of Kreve… they're all waiting to replace us."

"Perhaps that stolen relic is the key to our academy's recovery, maybe even something far beyond our past hopes…"

"But…" Miguel glanced skeptically at Lyon, who lay battered on the ground.

Sunny followed his gaze, and his previously soaring enthusiasm instantly plummeted.

Indeed…

What was the point of discussing all this now? The only sorcerer who knew the stolen relic's whereabouts lay unconscious before them.

Even if he woke, the Wild Hunt had likely fled far away after so much time had passed.

The ruins of the library fell silent.

After an indeterminate amount of time:

Cough, cough.

Lyon suddenly coughed twice.

"You're awake." Sunny and Miguel crouched down almost simultaneously, helping him sit up.

Lyon blinked dazedly, his pupils dilating. The moment he saw Sunny, he screamed, "Master Sunny! I found them! Those monsters are in a cave near the confluence of the Upper Lixela River."

"Did they notice you?" Sunny asked immediately.

"They did." Lyon shook his dizzy head and answered instinctively.

Noticing the disappointment on Sunny and Miguel's faces, he suddenly remembered something, reaching into his chest to produce a piece of black, bloodstained fabric.

Sunny took it with delight. "This bloodstain—?"

"I tore this from the Wild Hunt. The blood on it should belong to one of those monsters," Lyon nodded. "And when they injured me, the cave only had two Wild Hunt left… It seemed like some of them vanished… or maybe got separated from their companions…"

"And they appeared to be gravely injured."

Sunny's eyes lit up instantly.

With this blood-soaked material, and the knowledge that those monsters were wounded…

Of course, if those two Wild Hunt hadn't been injured, Lyon wouldn't have escaped after being discovered.

"Well done, Lyon."

Sunny praised loudly, then eagerly chanted an incantation to summon a fiery orange portal.

"Wait!" As Sunny was about to step through, a hand reached out to stop him.

"I'll go," Miguel said. "Tracking is my specialty, and with Ban Ard in disarray, you're needed here."

"Miguel…"

Sunny hesitated briefly, then nodded firmly and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Take plenty of people—don't worry about being noticed!"

"Understood." Miguel nodded, taking the cloth. "Don't worry, I'll bring it back."

As he walked toward the portal, he glanced back at Lyon.

"Anything else I should know?"

Lyon froze, thinking for a moment before speaking hesitantly:

"When I was tracking them, I think I saw…"

"It seemed like those Wild Hunt… were elves."

----------------------------

"Ah, it was a sea of light. At first, I thought the god of thunder, Kreve, had opened the gates of his divine kingdom to the mortal world. But instead of Valkyries pouring wine for warriors, what emerged were demons intent on destroying the world..."

A middle-aged gentleman with a monocle sat beside a dark oak tree, one hand resting on his chest. He seemed to be trying to brush away the fallen leaves from his chest but struggled, trembling as his fingers failed to accomplish the task.

In the end, a slender yet calloused young hand reached out from beside him, gently brushing off the leaf.

"Thank you," the gentleman said, offering his gratitude as he raised his trembling right hand before his eyes. He sighed, saying, "Ever since I witnessed a city of nearly ten thousand souls turn to ash before my eyes, perhaps cursed by the hatred of those who perished in that instant, my hand has never been the same."

"Or perhaps I was cursed by the devils that descended from the heavens..."

He raised his other hand, this one holding a waterskin—or rather, a wineskin. Pulling out the stopper, he took a deep swig.

"It's me who should be thanking you."

The young man beside the gentleman stood up, brushing off the grass and dirt from his trousers. He had striking blue eyes. At first glance, he appeared to be at least twenty years old, but a closer look revealed he was only about fourteen or fifteen.

Indeed!

The young man was none other than Allen.

Ultimately, he had failed to resist his curiosity and landed his griffin.

After all, the opportunity was rare and fleeting.

It had been worth it; he had pieced together the general events of the attack.

Two nights ago, the Wild Hunt had suddenly appeared over Kaedwen, shouting something incomprehensible using magic (several accounts mentioned the phrase Ard Gaeth, which Allen speculated referred to the Gate of Ard Gaeth). They then launched their assault.

With just one wave of spells, they obliterated the entire city outside the Ban Ard Academy, even destroying nearby outposts.

By comparison, the destruction in Ellander paled in significance.

Then, a blood-red eye appeared in the sky—possibly the magical essence of Hen Gedymdeith or some sort of magical formation, or both. Many of the black figures (the Wild Hunt) vanished entirely.

The few remaining—around a dozen of them—were "probably" locked in intense combat with the mages of Ban Ard.

The "probably" was Allen's own conjecture.

After all, those who knew the details were either still within the academy's blue magical barrier or had perished in the flames that consumed the city.

The decently dressed gentleman in front of him was a Lado noble's offspring (one without inheritance rights), traveling for academic purposes.

According to him, he had recently graduated with a degree in history from Oxenfurt and was planning to pursue a master's in elven studies. His professor had given him a research task (which Allen suspected was more of a chore) to borrow some materials from Ban Ard. He hadn't expected to nearly die in the process.

Most of Allen's reconstructed account had come from this man's mouth. Though some of his words were prone to embellishment, the information was mostly reliable.

As for the other parts...

Allen looked up.

Before him stretched a long line of carts and refugees, resembling a column of ants marching from the nearby hills to the distant plumes of smoke.

Despite their tragic faces, these refugees seemed in good spirits, with no visible injuries. Guards armed with weapons patrolled the route, maintaining order.

Compared to the refugees Allen had encountered in northern Kaedwen, these seemed far better off.

Of course.

It was likely because these refugees came from nearby villages around Ban Ard and had fled in anticipation of danger. Those who truly suffered had already been burned to ashes within the city, unable to escape.

Allen untied the reins from the tree. The horse, which he had temporarily bought from the gentleman, had a pristine white coat—a fine beast, but far too conspicuous for his current circumstances.

Leading the horse, Allen hadn't walked far when the gentleman's voice suddenly called out from behind him.

"You're heading the wrong way! That road leads to the abyss."

"The abyss? That's precisely where I'm going," Allen paused, then turned back with a grin.

Only a dozen of the Wild Hunt remained...

The Ban Ard Academy had once again suffered unprecedented devastation...

How could one resist the urge to be a little reckless?

.....

📢20 advanced chapters on p@treaon📢

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367. The Guiding Hand of Fate.

368. Hunting the Wild Hunt.

369. The First Battle with the Wild Hunt.

370. A Grand Welcome Ceremony for the Sorcerers from Afar.

371. Fireball to Destroy the World.