The Witcher: Wolf School's Hunting Notes

This was no sanctum of relics; the treasure chest could wait.

The Eternal Ones' Memory Crystals pertained to the Wild Hunt, and without Elder Speech, any significant gain from it was dubious at best.

Thus, for the bedridden witcher, there was only one viable choice—the sorcerer's memory.

"Though it's more like a sorcerer's skill…"

Recalling the experience of using The Witcher's Memory a few months back, Allen noted that both Brett's and Fredeca's memories were merely vessels for their core skills. Every scene encountered during the process was inextricably linked to one specific ability.

It seemed memories dropped by slain intelligent beings were, in essence, not unlike skill books in games from his previous life.

"Though the process is far from pleasant…"

Brett's memory wasn't too bad; it was merely about training—tedious but manageable.

Fredeca's, on the other hand… that despicable beast. His memories were nothing short of mental contamination.

For days after using it, Allen had struggled with a lack of appetite and an unusually short temper.

"Praise the Goddess Melitele… I hope this sorcerer was somewhat normal. Ideally, an expert in Elder Speech…"

Allen took a deep breath.

"Ding! Would you like to use the Sorcerer's Memory?"

A sharp, grating sound echoed in his mind, akin to sandpaper scraping against glass. Before he could adjust, the young witcher's sense of balance suddenly wavered.

In the blink of an eye, Allen found himself standing in a classroom.

Black stone slabs inscribed with runes and intricate diagrams, irregularly arranged desks and chairs, the skeletal remains of ancient reptiles sprawling across the ceiling, mysterious purple crystals glimmering in their eye sockets, and tomes with etched glyphs sprawled on tables, their runes squirming like serpents…

He was in a classroom at Ban Ard Academy, occupying the perspective of an ordinary young sorcerer apprentice.

"This is… peculiar…" Allen thought.

Without The Witcher's Journal, he'd have never dreamed of sitting in a sorcerer's academy classroom, listening to a seasoned mage lecture.

"Not going to take this chance to catch some sleep?" a childlike voice suddenly asked beside him.

Allen turned to see a drowsy boy of about eleven or twelve years old—or more accurately, a young sorcerer apprentice.

The lesson hadn't started yet, and many of the boys were sprawled across desks, seizing every second to nap.

The sight left Allen momentarily dazed, memories of his previous life as a student flooded back—those grueling days crushed under the weight of exams, assignments, and endless study.

An orphan without the means for tutoring, he had spent every spare moment studying harder than his more fortunate peers. At night, he scavenged for discarded bottles and cans to make ends meet, trading sleep for survival. Every second of rest stolen during breaks was precious.

"So even sorcerer apprentices in another world have academic pressures?"

A peculiar emotion hung over him, like a damp fog.

"No time to sleep!" he heard "himself" say. "The performance by Kashrel Caravan Circus was simply breathtaking… the Snake Woman, her supple and enchanting movements… that dance… And the bard Syphilis—no, Seffriss!—his lute playing perfectly complemented the heroic ballads. I was so thrilled I couldn't sleep a wink last night…"

"...The blazing forge burning the soul of Zatreth, the hammer striking…"

"Allen" even began to sing, though his tone and pitch resembled a croaking rooster in heat…

No technique, only raw emotion.

Right. They weren't the same.

Allen mused, his melancholic thoughts instantly swept away by "his" singing.

"No wonder Ban Ard always loses to Aretuza's girls in every competition," Allen thought. "One side practices asceticism akin to a monastery, sacrificing even the faintest possibility of motherhood to enhance their elemental control…"

"…while the boys here spend their nights dreaming of bawdy ballads and taverns."

"Winning would indeed be a miracle."

Allen rolled his eyes.

"Shut up, Colette!"

"Allen's" stunning performance stirred public outrage.

The apprentice sitting next to him tried desperately to clamp a hand over his mouth, while the rest of the classroom glared daggers at him.

"Philistines without taste."

"Allen" muttered under his breath, sulking into silence.

"Ding! Ding! Ding!"

The bell for class rang.

Almost immediately, a sorcerer stepped into the room.

The sight of a familiar yet somewhat younger face caused Allen to freeze in place.

Hen Gedymdeith.

The teacher for this lesson was none other than the most ancient and powerful sorcerer alive.

"Good morning, Headmaster Hen Gedymdeith!"

"Good morning, young gentlemen."

As the entire classroom greeted him, Hen Gedymdeith smiled amiably, making his way to the lectern.

"The headmaster really is the most regal of all our teachers…" the apprentice beside Allen murmured with reverence.

Even "Allen's" tone grew animated: "He's the best lecturer and, more importantly, the strongest man in the world."

Judging by their words, it wasn't the first time Hen Gedymdeith had taught them, but the admiration and awe in their eyes hadn't faded.

"You all look quite fatigued today…"

"Could it be that you spent the night poring over On the Essence of Magic by Stannumford, The Forces of the Elements by Giambattista, or Natural Magic co-authored by Richert and Monck?"

Hen Gedymdeith placed three books on the desk, then smiled knowingly. "Hmm… perhaps not."

"Let me guess: last night, Kashrel's caravan circus rolled into Ban Ard…"

"And perhaps some of you… 'illegally' left the dormitories and ventured beyond campus…"

His gaze swept the room.

The apprentices collectively bowed their heads.

Allen glanced around.

Good grief.

Not a single head remained upright.

So, the entire dormitory had been empty last night?

Hen Gedymdeith didn't seem disappointed—or perhaps he was merely used to it.

He sighed theatrically:

"It seems I must exercise my authority as headmaster. Kashrel's circus may not be suitable for Ban Ard. Perhaps I should see to it that they…"

"Nooo!"

Before he could finish, the classroom erupted into wails of despair.

None were louder than "Allen's" distinctive croak.

Such brazenness naturally drew the ancient sorcerer's attention.

"It seems Colette has a differing opinion," Hen Gedymdeith said, his gaze falling upon him.

The crushing presence of the sorcerer seemed to bear down, though Allen knew it was merely an illusion.

Unlike their encounter at the apprentice tournament, Hen Gedymdeith now exuded an air of benevolence.

But that was understandable—Allen might be a tool or obstacle in the sorcerer's eyes, yet these apprentices represented the future of sorcery itself.

Of course, Colette—"Allen's" memory—was oblivious to this nuance, stammering incoherently.

"How about this…" Hen Gedymdeith chuckled. "At the end of this lesson, I'll ask you five questions…"

"If you can answer three correctly, I won't send the circus away. Four correct, and I'll grant you all permission to attend tonight's performance openly. If you answer all five correctly…"

He let the suspense hang, watching as the boys gazed at him with hopeful eyes.

After a moment's pause, he declared:

"If you get them all right, I'll arrange for Kashrel's circus to stay another day."

"How does that sound, Colette?"

The entire classroom turned to stare at him.

Allen heard "himself" gulp audibly.

"Smack!"

The apprentice beside him clapped him on the shoulder. "Say yes! Quickly, say yes!"

Clearly, Colette had no choice.

"Yes, Headmaster," came the reply.

Hen Gedymdeith nodded in satisfaction and began his lecture.

"Magic is an exceedingly dangerous art, a powerful force wrested by intelligent life in its defiance of the world's primal essence…"

"Many care little for the study of magic's true nature, focusing instead on amplifying spells' destructive power or mastering higher-level incantations. But this approach is misguided—indeed, perilous…"

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

Hen Gedymdeith' lecture was captivating, his words flowing eloquently.

At first, the apprentices listened out of obligation, their minds on the circus performance, but gradually, they became immersed in the lesson.

One couldn't deny it—while it was theoretical, it was far more engaging than Vesemir's dry, tedious Monsterology classes.

Even so... even though Allen knew that being taught by such a master of this caliber was a rare and precious opportunity, comparable to receiving a lecture from an academician in his past life...

Allen found himself more and more perplexed as he listened.

It wasn't that he couldn't comprehend the content; rather, he was baffled about what this memory from a sorcerer named Colette wanted him to learn.

Surely it wasn't just the principles of magic?

After all, even alchemy and ritual studies weren't purely theoretical—they included practical techniques and procedures.

Yet what Hen Gedymdeith was teaching resembled Vesemir's Monstrumology: pure knowledge.

And such theoretical knowledge wasn't something that the Witcher's Grimoire would acknowledge or use for upgrades.

If it couldn't be acknowledged, then why was it given as a reward?

Allen was puzzled.

Still, having entered this memory, he could only carry on with strong curiosity.

"The fundamental force that sorcerers harness is primordial magic," Hen Gedymdeith began.

"That energy is drawn from the four elemental planes encircling this world."

"Each plane of chaotic energy has its own properties…"

He waved his hand casually, conjuring a solid sphere of earth from thin air.

"Earth magic is easy to extract, but its energy transmission is inefficient. The process of summoning earth magic is complex, but the strength it contains is immense…"

He placed the heavy earthen sphere onto the oak lectern.

With just a gentle placement—

Crack... crack…

The legs of the desk began to bend, groaning under the tremendous weight.

Before it completely collapsed, the dense sphere disappeared into thin air with another gesture from Hen Gedymdeith.

In its place appeared a distortion of the air, accompanied by a gust that swept through the classroom, ruffling the apprentices' hair.

"Air magic is unpredictable and difficult to control. Drawing air magic is simple, but gauging the amount needed for a spell requires intuition…"

The formless wind in his hand suddenly ignited into scorching flames, startling the apprentices into instinctive retreat.

Hen Gedymdeith chuckled softly and continued:

"Fire magic is the most destructive and chaotic of the elemental magics. It's easy to summon and provides energy rapidly. Unfortunately, inexperienced young sorcerers often struggle to stop the flow of fire magic, placing excessive strain on their bodies…"

"As for water magic…"

This time, Hen Gedymdeith refrained from another demonstration. Instead, he clenched his staff-less right hand, which had been commanding the elements with effortless precision. The blue flames extinguished instantly.

"Wow! Wow!" gasps of amazement filled the room.

"Water magic is widely acknowledged as the easiest type of magic to learn. Most of you already know it. Our previous courses have been primarily focused on this element, so I won't demonstrate further."

"Isn't that the truth?" Allen heard "himself" mutter under his breath, "We've been learning water magic for five years now. Who knows when we'll finally get to learn a fire spell…"

"Not now."

Allen's muttering was abruptly interrupted.

He saw Hen Gedymdeith staring at him with a sudden, stern intensity.

"Not now, Colette. Never underestimate the power of the elements, especially the most unruly fire element."

"I don't want to hear someday that a sorcerer from Ban Ard set themselves ablaze in the street. Although every year, there's one or two fools who do, I hope you're not one of them, Colette…" Hen Gedymdeith swept his gaze across the room. "Nor any of you."

"So promise me, until given explicit permission, none of you will attempt fire magic on your own. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Headmaster," the apprentices replied after exchanging uneasy glances.

"Good!" Hen Gedymdeith nodded in satisfaction and resumed his lecture.

The lesson concluded swiftly.

During the Q&A session, "Allen" unsurprisingly answered five questions correctly, inadvertently earning Kashrel's circus troupe another day of performance at Ban Ard.

Yet Allen could tell—it was all just a strategy.

After all, the questions were drawn directly from the lecture. Anyone paying even a little attention could answer them.

But truthfully, for someone at the pinnacle of the Witcher's world in authority, renown, and power—a mage of Hen Gedymdeith' caliber to invest such effort—was astonishing.

In his past life, Allen had attended university and encountered professors of the highest academic standing. But they rarely lectured, let alone taught with such dedication.

Allen himself had never experienced anything like this.

After a single lecture, he couldn't help but envy the apprentices.

Though Vera's teaching wasn't bad—it was private tutoring and far more attentive—this was something else.

Day after day passed, followed by weeks and months.

Colette and his apprentice companions managed to delay Kashrel's circus troupe for an entire month.

In the end, the troupe had to move on, replaced by a famed court jester, then a snake charmer from the eastern deserts…

Of course, Allen didn't witness any of these events himself.

Colette had rest days, but Allen did not. Once one lecture ended, the next day brought another.

He only heard snippets from classroom chatter about the snake charmer's alluring figure, the bard's mesmerizing voice, the jester's hilarity, or the exotic charm of the snake charmer.

It was torturous.

Eventually, Allen realized this was all part of Hen Gedymdeith' strategy to entice the apprentices into focusing on their studies.

Yet one thing puzzled him...

"Is this theory class truly that important? Worth such a significant effort?"

Until one day…

As seasons passed and two years elapsed, Hen Gedymdeith abruptly announced the end of class.

In that instant, time froze.

[Ding! Would you like to spend 1 Experience Orb to unlock the skill: Source LV1?]

.....

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381. Allen, What Are You So Anxious About?

382. The Blue Death.

383. The Guiding Stone of Ard Gaeth's Gate.

384. Hen Gedymdeith is Dead.

385. Allen's Influence.