The Witcher: Wolf School's Hunting Notes

"Glory to the Alderfolk!!!"

A sudden burst of white-hot fire tore through the dense forest with blinding speed.

That fire howled.

The overwhelming surge of psychic energy accompanying it surged past like a burning wind.

The mental walls in the Witcher's mind, already unstable, crumbled instantly.

No! That wasn't fire!

Fire does not possess glory, nor the all-consuming rage to incinerate the world and destroy everything in its path.

It was the Wild Hunt, the one Eredin had cast aside in his retreat.

He had returned, burning hotter than when he left.

And he was ablaze—burning with a ferocity that could rival the sun.

In this infernal clearing, blackened by scorched trees and despair, the dazzling brightness made it seem like midday.

Behind him, the ground itself ignited, a path of flame trailing like molten lava.

A sharp, persistent hum broke the Witcher's silence spell. The medallion on his chest howled in alarm.

But no one cared about such details anymore.

Standing near Serra's corpse, Jared turned his head in terror. Andeni scrambled desperately toward the magical ritual carpet. Vilgefortz and Miguel, seemingly recognizing the Hunt's fiery state, raised their staffs in unison, pointing toward the heavens with horror.

Even Allen, who typically masked himself with caution, was caught off guard.

The moment the Hunt burst forth, an overwhelming sense of danger crystallized into an icy chill that shot up his spine to the back of his head. It felt as though countless sharp needles pierced his unprotected skin.

He dared not think of destiny's guidance or why it did not align with the Hunt's path. He didn't even dare to turn and flee. His instincts screamed that escape was impossible.

He couldn't escape.

Even with thirty meters between himself and the mages, even with the cover of the slope, charred trees, and rocks…

Allen forced his mutated organs to squeeze out every drop of energy, his trembling arms outstretched, crossing before his chest.

Quen Sign!

He almost shouted it aloud, as if that might speed up the formation of the magical barrier.

The translucent, pale-violet sphere barely began forming at his feet…

And the blazing figure, like a miniature sun, had already reached Serra's corpse, standing alongside Jared.

The mage swung his staff frantically, trying to resist, but the fear dilating his pupils betrayed his certainty of death.

In that moment, he finally understood the meaning behind the words left by the one called Eredin before departing:

"I hope at least one of you can deliver the message to your leader."

Those words were never meant for them.

"Serra!"

A psychic shockwave erupted as the Hunt opened his arms wide, releasing an even more explosive light.

The entire world seemed to pause in an eerie stillness.

And then—

The elemental fire around them surged to life like a volcano erupting in a sudden, violent blast.

Allen's vision was filled with searing white light, forcing him to shut his eyes.

"BOOM!!!"

The deafening roar lasted less than a second before it was replaced by disorienting tinnitus.

He didn't even feel the breaking of his Quen shield.

His body became weightless, like a kite in a storm, or a scrap of paper blown away.

He collided with countless obstacles along the way—likely trees—but he felt no pain. His training instinctively had him curl into a protective posture as he bounced and rolled.

Strangely, he noticed he wasn't feeling the sensation of being burned. Then it hit him—his nerves likely hadn't yet caught up with the damage.

As that thought registered, a wave of agonizing pain coursed through every fiber of his body.

But pain was a good sign—it meant he was still alive.

At some point, his body slammed to the ground with a heavy thud.

Allen forced his eyes open through the pain, greeted by a chaotic blur of overlapping images, each shimmering with firelight. The disorienting sight made him nauseous, forcing him to close his eyes again.

Reaching into his potion pouch for healing remedies, his fingers found only shards of shattered crystal and glass.

Allen's heart sank. Rummaging deeper, relief washed over him as his fingers closed around an intact vial in a hidden compartment—the Swallow potion.

[Name: Swallow]

[Type: Potion]

[Effect: Accelerates regeneration. Stops regeneration during intense physical activity for 2 seconds.]

[Note: Your trusty health potion!]

He uncorked the vial and, despite the nausea and vertigo, downed it in one gulp.

The warm liquid flowed down his throat. He waited nearly half a minute before the dizziness and nausea began to subside.

"Quite the price to pay," was Allen's first thought as clarity returned to his mind.

The inventory of the Witcher's Journal could only store items originating from itself, such as essence vials and purified spirits. Other items, even potions brewed from recipes obtained through loot, could not be stored.

To compensate, Allen had commissioned Lady Vera to craft a specialized potion pouch. It was designed to protect its contents—bombs, oils, and potions—from typical impacts.

Clearly, this wasn't a typical impact.

Fortunately, the Swallow potion had survived in its innermost compartment. Being a restorative potion rarely used in active combat, it had been tucked away for emergencies.

Without it, the situation would have been dire.

However, the more volatile potions stored in the outer sections—like Blizzard and Alghoul Decoction—had been completely destroyed. The Hunt's self-detonation had cost him dearly.

"Alive is better than nothing," Allen muttered, consoling himself.

"Still, I need to look into acquiring a proper dimensional storage item. Or find a way to unlock the Journal's full capacity."

He shuddered at the thought of carrying more dangerous items like Northern Wind bombs. The explosion could have turned this catastrophe into a massacre.

The Swallow potion's effects took hold, dulling his pain. The ringing in his ears subsided.

Unlike the games, the potion wasn't a miraculous cure-all. It didn't restore full health instantly or mend broken bones as if by magic.

The Swallow potion simply doubled a Witcher's already formidable regenerative abilities.

Once the dizziness faded, Allen cautiously opened his eyes again. The blurriness slowly resolved into clarity.

He'd been flung nearly a hundred meters from the battlefield. Before him was a familiar creek, surrounded by burning splinters of wood and strange black substances.

Lifting his gaze, he peered through the sparse trees at the Wild Hunt's former encampment.

There were no Hunt warriors. No corpses. No mages.

Only a massive, twenty-meter-wide crater, filled with flowing, molten rock.

Allen knew for certain the Hunt warrior was dead. Whatever solar-like state he'd entered, it had consumed him entirely.

But the mages weren't dead.

The Witcher's Journal hadn't issued any rewards, which meant the threat wasn't over.

"Persistent bastards…" Allen muttered, still aching. "Even after such devastation."

His Wolf School medallion hummed faintly. The armor had been charred, but it was otherwise intact, a testament to its craftsmanship.

"Quen did its job, after all," he thought grimly.

Just as he tried to push himself off the ground, a sharp pain surged through his back and limbs, momentarily blacking out his vision.

"Ugh…"

The pain forced him out of the invisibility granted by the Night.Shade Cloak, a relic from Francesca. At least it, too, had survived.

In his Witcher senses, Allen detected severe bruising along his back and significant tears in his muscle fibers.

"Must've been from colliding with trees and the ground during the blast."

These injuries weren't something Swallow could heal in the short term. Rest and recovery were necessary.

Despite the excruciating pain, Allen forced himself to his feet, trudging slowly in the direction guided by destiny.

As for the fate of the mages, he could no longer afford to care.

No further accidents occurred.

Allen smoothly followed Destiny's guidance into the depths of the forest, arriving beneath an unremarkable birch tree.

After arduously digging for nearly three minutes, he finally unearthed a plain black stone.

"Ding!"

"Fragment of the Gate of Ard Gaeth detected. Absorb it?"

Hearing the reassuring prompt in his mind, Allen took a deep breath, finally relaxing his tense nerves.

At the same time, Destiny's guidance vanished without a trace, as though it had never existed.

"Destiny..."

Feeling a vague sense of loss, he carefully covered the traces of his digging and was about to stash the fragment of Ard Gaeth's Gate...

Wait!

His still-dazed and dizzy mind suddenly snapped awake, as if doused in a bucket of cold water.

If the Wild Hunt had hidden the fragment of Ard Gaeth's Gate here, they must have some way to track it. He couldn't just take it back.

Yet, no matter how Allen examined it, this was just an ordinary-looking stone, and the surroundings were indistinguishable from any other forest.

After some thought, he reached out to the Wolf Medallion at his neck.

Through the medallion's elemental perspective, he finally noticed a strange tree-shaped rune etched into the black stone.

"As expected, there's something sinister about this!"

Despite trying several methods, he was unable to dispel the rune.

So.

The witcher gritted his teeth and headed away from the blazing inferno in the opposite direction, walking for quite a while.

"Ding!"

"Fragment of the Gate of Ard Gaeth detected. Absorb it?"

The Witcher's Journal was the best tool for dispelling lingering traces of magic. He refused to believe this rune could follow and mark the codex itself.

Absorb!

The moment he confirmed the command, the fragment rose from Allen's hand, levitating briefly before vanishing into thin air.

"Ding! Fragment of Ard Gaeth's Gate being absorbed..."

Time passed.

The translucent panel before his eyes showed no further updates.

"Looks like it'll take some time to fully absorb."

The lack of any notable reaction reassured Allen.

"I wonder if those four sorcerers are still alive..." he muttered as he struggled to stand, gazing back in the direction he had come. 'Is Vilgefortz still breathing?'

Vilgefortz must be alive.

Allen shook his head.

The Wild Hunt had exploded near Serra, while Vilgefortz had been the farthest from the blast. If any of the sorcerers survived, he would surely be among them.

Even so, the sorcerers of Ban Ard were unlikely to come out unscathed.

After all, the sheer force of that detonation had gravely injured Allen from a considerable distance away.

The thought of that terrifying explosion caused the witcher's expression to grow dazed.

"Glory to the Alderfolk!"

"Serra!"

The heart-wrenching roar still echoed in his ears.

The Alderfolk—Aen Elle.

To Allen, they had always been nothing more than malevolent conquerors, destroyers, and bloodthirsty marauders.

Yet today, the witcher had never felt so vividly how alive his enemies truly were.

They didn't even need him to kill them—they were willing to burn their lives away for some unfathomable belief.

Though this outcome pleased Allen, and he had even actively facilitated it.

Still...

Why had that elf, after hiding the fragment of Ard Gaeth's Gate and ensuring its safety, chosen to turn back and perish alongside the sorcerers?

What had he been thinking at that moment?

Had he returned because he didn't want the body of the female elf, Serra, to be defiled?

Was it old-fashioned love? Or camaraderie with his fallen allies? Or perhaps the failure of their mission, the deaths of his companions, left him unwilling to continue living...

Maybe it was a mixture of all these emotions, along with feelings Allen couldn't comprehend.

When one considered it deeply, the Aen Elle were, in the end, just a pitiful people—fleeing in desperation, having lost their home to the White Frost.

"Rustle~"

Out of the corner of his eye, Allen noticed movement—a bush trembling unnaturally.

Just as he tensed, a rabbit darted out from within.

He shook his head, casting aside his strange sentiments.

This wasn't the first time Allen had killed someone.

But today, the manner in which the dead had perished was simply too striking to forget.

The cold wind chilled him to clarity.

"Do the conquerors of countless worlds deserve your sympathy?"

"One ordinary Wild Hunt soldier's self-destruction left you gravely injured."

"Your current strength, and that of the Wolf School, in their eyes, is no better than that rabbit's."

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

"Allen."

The witcher took a deep breath, warning himself:

"Never empathize with your enemies. Never."

Then.

Allen lifted his gaze again.

In the darkness, thick black smoke mixed with crimson flames shot into the sky.

With a sigh, he turned and chanted an incantation softly.

"Boom~"

A swirling orange-red portal appeared in the forest, roaring with wind.

Allen stepped into the portal.

And at the very moment both his feet crossed the threshold—

"Ding!"

"Monsters: 'Aen Elle,' 'Sorcerers' defeated!"

"Rewards Calculated: …"

.....

📢20 advanced chapters on p@treaon📢

For advance chapters: [email protected]/Uchiha_Itachi007 (replace @ with a)

375. Another S-Rank Evaluation.

376. Absurd.

377. Ban Ard Is No Longer a Threat.

378. Could It Be He's Not the Child of Prophecy?

379. Spiral! The Witcher Who Commands Time and Space!