The Witcher: Wolf School's Hunting Notes

The guidance of destiny remained unmoved.

The witcher instinctively took two steps toward the camp before stopping abruptly, ducking behind a waist-high embankment and closing his eyes.

Compared to the nearly insane Wild Hunt, maddened by the loss of their comrades, and the other ragtag sorcerers, the danger posed by magical sources that were tightly connected to elements and power was considerable—even to a witcher using illusion magic for concealment.

Especially now, with the sorcerers scattered by fireball spells, a single misstep could lead to exposure.

"Vilgefortz..."

Activating the Wild Speech, he called out in his mind.

The Mother of Nature's response was unusually aggressive this time.

Almost the moment the Wild Speech succeeded...

"Urgh~"

The witcher couldn't suppress a pained groan.

"...Kill them... Kill them... Kill them!!!"

A wave of savage, untamed murderous intent surged into his mind.

It felt as if the flames not only engulfed the forest but also ignited his nerves, driving him into a frenzy to destroy all those who harmed nature.

The witcher's eyes shot open, bloodshot and red as if staring at a mortal enemy.

The illusion concealing him wavered unstably.

"Buzz~"

A faint vibration emanated from the apprentice witcher's chest, and a cooling sensation swept into his mind, clearing his thoughts.

The murderous intent gripping his heart instantly abated.

"It's... the Mirage Pearl..."

The witcher took a deep breath, struggling to pull his mind away from the scorching whispers.

Even though he managed to break free, a lingering sense of destructive bloodlust remained in his mind.

"So, this is the path of the druids?"

"Relying on the power of nature while being deeply influenced by its connection."

"No wonder extreme factions emerge among the druids—this influence is even more terrifying than coercive magic."

Shaken, the witcher patted his chest, sending an approving emotion to the Pearl of Illusion linked to his mind.

Had it not been for the Pearl, he might not have lost himself completely, but the risk of exposure would have skyrocketed.

"Boom!"

At some point, the sound of battle resumed in the direction of the camp.

Familiar explosions from fireballs and the crackling of flames consuming trees were interspersed with the furious shouts of sorcerers.

"What's happening?" The witcher sprang to his feet. "After being blown apart, not only did those sorcerers not flee—they dare to counterattack..."

"Are they insane?"

"Rumble~"

The rumbling of thunder interrupted him.

Unnoticed, layers of dense clouds had gathered over the forest.

Amidst the gloom, a cold wind howled.

"Buzz, buzz~"

The wolf medallion on his chest plate pulsed violently.

Following the intense ripples that seemed to distort the air, the witcher looked skyward.

"Crack—"

A bolt of lightning tore through the heavens, thunder booming in its wake.

Thick purple bolts of lightning struck the ground like celestial dragons descending.

Charred birch trees trembled, and raging flames were pressed tightly against the trunks.

The ground trembled.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

The lightning illuminated the forest, each bolt thicker than the last.

Even the thinnest among them was several times stronger than those near Aedirn's Vengerberg outskirts back then.

"This is the true Alzur's Thunder!" Allen instantly realized. "Then... it must be Vilgefortz!"

The sorcerers of the witcher's world were different from those in Allen's previous life's fictional works.

They might learn numerous spells, but in practice, they only mastered two or three for actual combat.

In fact, most sorcerers—especially the high-ranking ones—were not combatants. Instead, they were more akin to researchers, alchemists, or advisors.

At least, that was the case on the Continent.

Take Mary, for example.

Before encountering the archgriffin, her offensive spells were all basic beginner-level magic.

Francesca's proficiency in numerous spells was undoubtedly linked to the dire situation of the Aen Seidhe elves, who faced dwindling numbers and constant warfare.

Unlike witchers, sorcerers rarely needed offensive spells in their daily lives. A few defensive spells sufficed.

After all, top-tier attack magic wasn't easy to learn—mastering one was better than dabbling in several.

Therefore...

Since none of the sorcerers had used Alzur's Thunder while attacking the magical barrier earlier, the sorcerer now casting it was almost certainly Vilgefortz.

But why was Alzur's Thunder suddenly so much stronger?

The witcher's gaze flickered. After checking his equipment and planning his route, he crouched and stealthily moved toward the camp.

Beyond the slope near the creek lay billowing smoke illuminated by firelight.

Fortunately, the clouds summoned by Vilgefortz's Alzur's Thunder didn't dissipate after the spell ended. Instead, they naturally turned into rain under the howling wind.

Of course...

It was also possible that another sorcerer had used weather magic to change the climate. After all, the frenzied Wild Hunt specialized in fire magic, and a damp environment inevitably reduced the power of fire spells.

However, the intense elemental fluctuations and dense smoke made it hard for the witcher to discern.

"...Dh'oine... Damn it... Tuvean y gloir... Serra... Dh'oine... You all deserve to die..."

As he walked through the smoke-obscured terrain, he soon felt the Wild Hunt's chaotic mental waves brushing against his mind again. Their familiar frenzied state brought both relief and curiosity.

"Still insane as ever, but they seem vigorous. Doesn't look like anything serious happened to them," the witcher muttered, scratching the steel-brush-like stubble on his jaw. "So why are those sorcerers so recklessly aggressive?"

His musings were interrupted by the thunderous sounds of battle drawing closer, forcing the witcher to focus entirely on his steps.

Amidst the scorched forest, the temperature rose sharply.

If not for the Grandmaster Wolf gear absorbing the ordinary flames on the ground, allowing him to concentrate on maintaining the Mirage Pearl's magic, his disguise would've been ruined already.

Even so, it took a long time to cover less than a hundred meters, and his pace grew slower and his posture lower.

The smoke completely obscured the path ahead, visibility reduced to less than two meters.

The witcher relied on destiny's guidance and the sorcerers' magical explosions to orient himself.

Curiously, both sides' positions hadn't changed much, as if engaged in a standoff.

Were the Wild Hunt's fireballs less effective?

Or were the sorcerers unable to move?

As these thoughts crossed his mind, the witcher's expression suddenly changed. He dropped to the ground in a flash.

"Whoosh!"

A head-sized rock tore through the smoke, skimming over his head.

The witcher touched his scalp, feeling a chill. Deciding to crawl forward, he began to inch along the ground.

But barely two meters in, an icy chill enveloped him.

In an instant, it felt as though he had crossed a boundary. The smoke and flames vanished behind him, revealing charred birch trees, barren black earth, and four sorcerers standing atop it.

No, wait!

The witcher narrowed his piercing blue eyes.

Crawling earlier had lowered his perspective. He hadn't noticed before, but beneath Vilgefortz and the three other sorcerers lay a black carpet almost indistinguishable from the scorched ground.

Different-colored runes and symbols densely intertwined to form a complex ritual circle, glowing faintly.

The witcher recognized it—this was a Mana Ritual.

[Name: Mana Ritual]

[Type: Magical Ritual]

[Requirements: Ritual Studies LV4]

[Materials: Chalk ×2, Glass ×2, Sulfur ×2, Infused Dust ×1]

[Effect: Creates a formation that increases mana capacity for the first individual to enter, provided they have magical abilities and concentrate on the ritual. Duration: 5 hours. The caster can also drain the ritual's power to gain an equivalent amount of Fifth Essence.]

[Note: Every sorcerer who sets up a Mana Ritual is a glass cannon!]

"Damn, no wonder Vilgefortz's Alzur's Thunder Strike is so powerful..."

The Witcher quickly scanned the surroundings and then crawled to a higher, shadowed spot with some cover.

Dispelling the mirage orb and using Night.Shade to conceal himself in the darkness once more, he finally let out a deep breath of relief.

The male mages' strength came from a ceremonial carpet made with who-knows-what, which restricted their movement, forcing them to defend and attack from a fixed position.

But even so, it didn't explain why they were actively attacking...

What about the Wild Hunt?

The Witcher narrowed his eyes and turned his gaze toward the source of the elemental chaos—ice spikes, lightning, and hurricanes—where fate seemed to urge him.

However, the violent elemental storm and scorched birch trees obstructed his view. He could only faintly see a ring of fire glowing amidst the dense darkness.

Thus.

He cautiously began moving northward around the battlefield.

Just then—

Inside the blue spherical barrier, the long-bearded mage standing in front of Vilgefortz suddenly spoke.

"Where's Quinn? Why isn't he here yet?"

Quinn... That must be the name of the mage... Allen paused in his tracks.

"Fled? Gravely injured?" The triangular-eyed mage, who had just cast an ice spike, spoke with a venomous tone. "Or maybe he's dead?"

"He was too close to the front line and wasn't specialized in defensive spells..."

"Quinn is merely a teaching mage. The only reason he managed to don the black robe was due to his innovations in pedagogy, which earned him the favor of Dean Hen Gedymdeith..."

"Miguel, you shouldn't have called him here!"

"Quinn wouldn't run away." The goatee-sporting mage, who was casting a hurricane, added impassively.

"It wasn't me who called him..." The mage called Miguel sighed, offering no rebuttal. "Forget it. It's my fault. I should have stopped him."

This really was a heavy loss.

Seven mid-level mages—all core members of the radical faction, who prided themselves on being male mages and believed magic stood above all worldly things.

In truth, if they weren't core members, they wouldn't have been summoned so hastily.

Now, not only had all the mid-level mages perished, but they might also have lost Quinn, the academy's highly esteemed teaching mage.

Miguel couldn't even imagine how Dean Hen Gedymdeith would react if he returned and found out what had happened to Quinn.

For the Glory faction, the blow would be monumental.

Could a stolen material, the use of which not even the dean might fully understand, truly justify such a heavy price?

Miguel didn't understand, but he had no choice.

The legendary Philosopher's Stone couldn't turn back time.

"Quinn will be fine," he said. "Just hold out a little longer; that monster is nearly finished."

The other two mages didn't respond, their voices booming like thunder as they chanted incantations again.

Vilgefortz didn't intervene throughout, as if he hadn't heard a thing. He kept his focus on casting Alzur's Thunder Strike.

"Boom—"

Lightning flashed again in the clouds.

The blinding white light illuminated the entire forest.

After finishing the thunder spell, Vilgefortz took advantage of the light to glance at the camp, seemingly inadvertently, before resuming Miguel's task. While taking a brief rest, he maintained the magic barrier.

On the other side—

Allen had also rounded the scorched tree that had been blocking his view.

As the dazzling lightning subsided, the Wild Hunt appeared.

He was burning.

Literally burning.

The Wild Hunt, clad in black iron armor, looked like an enormous torch, with intense flames shooting straight into the sky.

Those flames weren't some kind of magic barrier but erupted from every exposed gap in his armor: the boots, gauntlets, and joints of the greaves… and, of course, the helmet.

From within the helmet, the face was no longer a fearsome skull but a visage distorted by fiery light.

The Witcher couldn't make out the features, but for some reason, he felt the face must be strikingly handsome—just like the beautiful face of the dead Wild Hunt lying behind him on the ground.

For reasons unknown, a memory surfaced in his mind of Vera teaching Mary the Fireflash spell at the Melitele Temple.

"Fire is one of the four elements, the most destructive under equal magical power, but also the most volatile and uncontrollable."

"When you can't control it, it will control you. It will enrage you, ignite you, and turn you into fuel—burning, screaming, helplessly feeling your blood boil, your flesh char into carbon."

But the Wild Hunt seemed to defy everything Vera had said.

He was self-immolating—a classic sign of fire elemental loss of control.

Yet he wasn't dead. He didn't even scream from the pain of his flesh being incinerated.

He merely emitted chaotic mental waves of extreme rage and... extreme sorrow.

"Whoosh~"

A few more massive ice spikes pierced the air, falling from the sky.

"Ah—"

The Wild Hunt roared and raised his staff.

The ice spikes, emanating intense cold, vaporized mid-air.

But the next razor-laden whirlwind sliced directly into his flaming body.

The Witcher observed as the exposed skin on his body was cut, and blood vaporized the instant it left the wounds, making it seem as if he was unharmed.

Yet the flames enveloping his massive frame visibly weakened.

The Witcher didn't think this was a good omen for the Wild Hunt.

As for why he hadn't dodged…

His gaze shifted downward, to the unscathed body of the female Aen Elle.

Her helmetless face was even more exquisite than when she had just died.

"Boom-boom-boom—"

Ice spikes, gales, lightning...

The Wild Hunt, perhaps burning his own life, was fighting against the world for a corpse.

"No wonder they haven't moved. The mages must have noticed something..." Allen sighed. "They've seen through it."

The Witcher figured there had to be a cliché love story buried in this, but he didn't want to know.

As a Witcher, he knew the Wild Hunt's previous atrocities were too horrific for any sympathy.

But even so...

The fiery puppet master behind this seemed poised for joy, yet that joy suddenly felt... less triumphant.

.....

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373. The King of the Wild Hunt—Eredin.

374. Do Not Empathize with Your Enemies.

375. Another S-Rank Evaluation.

376. Absurd.

377. Ban Ard Is No Longer a Threat.