The Witcher: Wolf School's Hunting Notes

"Child of miracles..."

"The time in this world is running out."

The holy voice lingered, gradually disappearing into the void.

At this moment, the rituals of the maiden, the pregnant woman, and the old woman, all of which had reached their end, left nothing but ashes scattered on the ground.

As Allen gazed at the statue of Melitele, which had returned to its original broken state under the flickering candlelight, he had a strong premonition.

Even if the Melitele concealment ritual were set up again, it would no longer summon the goddess. At least, it was impossible in the near future.

"She lied to you."

Suddenly, a voice with a reproachful tone flashed through his mind. He gently touched the place on his forehead that had been kissed by the goddess.

"Lie to me about what?" He looked up at the graceful statue of the maiden, tilting his head in confusion as he recalled.

Wait!

Allen suddenly realized something, and his sapphire cat-like eyes contracted sharply.

"The divine power sustained by the Conjunction of the Spheres can only accomplish one thing: the harvest blessing or the holy shield and holy power?"

"Only one thing can be done…"

"Could it be that this kiss is the harvest blessing?!!"

Breathing heavily, he opened his Witcher's journal.

[Treasure Chest: Aen Elle's Chest18, Sorcerers's Chest18, Scurver's Chest5, Alghouls' Chest5, Ghoul's Chest5, Rotfiend's Chest5]

With a thought, the system prompted:

[Do you want to open the Ghoul's Chest5?]

Following his usual practice, Allen was about to experiment with the lower-grade chests.

"No!"

His mind shrank as if it hit a metal spike.

"What if the harvest blessing is counted by the number of items and not by time? If I waste it on Ghoul chests, it would be a huge loss." Allen thought.

He never had the idea of saving his strength before an uncertain battle, as that would be disrespecting his own life.

Anyway, these chests had to be opened tonight.

With determination, he took a deep breath.

"Praise the Mother of All Things, goddess of fertility, harvest, and childbirth, the eternal maiden, mother, and crone who protects us..."

After finishing his usual luck-praying incantation, he added:

"I hope the cutscene shows me White Frost!"

[Ding! Aen Elle's Chest18 opened.]

Blinding golden light exploded out of the chest, which was decorated with leaves and vines in an elven style, the moment Witcher Journal's prompt sounded.

Immediately after that, a continuous stream of golden light followed.

Gold, gold, gold, gold, gold, gold, gold, purple, gold... purple, blue, white...

Nine gold, two purple, three blue, and four white!

"Indeed, it's the harvest blessing!" Allen clenched his fists excitedly, but at the same time, he broke out in a cold sweat.

The light changed from gold to purple, blue, and white...

Clearly, the harvest blessing was exactly as he had predicted—it acted like an energy that was consumed with each chest opened.

The last time, the nine chests of the one-eyed Wraiths had yielded eight gold and one purple, but they hadn't yet reached their consumption limit.

This was quite reasonable, actually.

"Good thing I didn't waste my luck on the Ghoul chests, or I would have really lost out..." Allen wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

Although according to the patterns, most of the Witcher world's monster chests typically yielded recipes from The Witcher 3, the loot pools didn't differ much.

It was only through entities like the Drowner King or the one-eyed Wraiths, which came from Conjunction of the Spheres, that unique loot pools seemed to emerge.

This was a bit strange, considering that most of the monsters in the Witcher world ultimately originated from other realms too.

But Aen Elle, the one who had conquered many realms and was a boss character in both the original story and the game, could he really be considered a monster from the Witcher world?

[Ding! The chest quality meets the requirements: Gold/Gold, number meets the requirement: 9/7, type meets the requirement: Systematic Items/Systematic Items. Do you wish to merge the chests?]

"Hmm?"

"It's not a skill this time?"

Allen looked at the system prompt with confusion, but after thinking for a moment, he chose to confirm.

The next second, the chests in front of him, which were bursting with golden light, began to tremble with powerful force.

As if repelling each other like opposing magnets, the chests slowly drew together towards the center, while the others were pushed to the edges.

The seven beams of golden light grew closer and closer, until they almost merged into one.

At the center of the dazzling light, it seemed unable to bear the immense power and suddenly collapsed into a black hole.

The seven golden chests froze for a moment before they were sucked into the black hole.

However, unlike when the Beast Roar path was opened, a deep crimson glow immediately radiated out as soon as the golden chests were swallowed by the black hole.

"Indeed, last time was something special," Allen thought. "The chain sounds and the ominous roar from the black hole weren't part of the normal chest merging cutscene..."

So the question arose...

What was the source of the roar trapped behind the chains?

Was the Beast Howl path something that was "stolen" from it?

And what exactly was the Witcher journal?

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

The flood of thoughts surged through his mind as the red light from the black hole gradually faded. Then, everything before Allen's eyes darkened, forcing him to focus again.

"Thud thud~ Thud thud~"

The sound of rapid hooves echoed in his ears as he galloped through the deepest darkness.

"How many are left?" someone asked next to him.

He turned his head.

On his right was a man dressed in a brown-red and grey-blue leather mage robe. A large sapphire, gleaming with mesmerizing blue light, was embedded in the collar, and a black cloak billowed behind him.

He rode a skeletal horse, burning with green flames, holding a beautifully carved scepter pointed forward.

Following the thread of blue magic energy emanating from the scepter, Allen finally noticed the blue, cone-shaped magical barrier surrounding them.

It protected them, and behind them...

"Thirteen, Lord Avallac'h. Forty-one of our kin have already disappeared..."

"Without finding the 'door,' we will eventually be consumed by White Frost..."

Allen heard himself say.

The two Wild Hunt riders exchanged mental waves. The tone of Allen's voice was cold, utterly devoid of urgency.

Avallac'h... White Frost...

White Frost!

They were being pursued by White Frost!

White Frost is behind me!

Allen desperately turned his head to look behind him, but there was only the same skeletal horse, spitting green flames, ridden by the normal elf-like Wild Hunt.

Behind the Wild Hunt, there was the blue magical barrier.

His field of vision was confined to within the barrier; beyond it, there was nothing but a tangible sea of darkness.

"What are they doing?" Allen didn't understand.

Though they were being pursued by White Frost, and more and more people were being swallowed, the barrier remained stable, showing no signs of wear or attack, as if the barrier was the only piece of land in the ocean of blackness.

Moreover, whether it was Avallac'h or the thirteen Aen Elle behind him, all were galloping with clenched jaws, but their emotions remained remarkably steady, as though they were accustomed to it.

"Mm."

Avallac'h gave a faint hum and continued holding his scepter, riding at the front.

"Hold on… Naked in the spiral, you will be anchored by White Frost. You know Tir ná Lia will never accept beings marked by White Frost..."

"Crack~ Crack~"

The faint sounds weren't drowned out by the hooves.

Avallac'h's tone faltered.

Allen turned toward the source of the sound and saw a young Wild Hunt rider in the center of the group.

He was an Aen Elle, with a youthful face.

"Crack~ Crack~"

A faint blue glow emanated from his body, and his exposed skin, outside his armor, reflected a gem-like gleam.

"Sorry."

He smiled in resignation, quickly handing over a conical object wrapped in smooth cloth from his saddle bag to the nearest Wild Hunt.

The Wild Hunt silently took it.

At this moment, all the Wild Hunt riders, except for Avallac'h, who continued to maintain the magical barrier, were watching him, as if witnessing something, or perhaps mourning.

"Glory to the People of the Alders!!"

He shouted with immense force, veins popping on his neck.

Then he yanked the reins and turned his horse toward the thick blackness, galloping into it.

Shimmering crystal-like fragments fell from his exposed skin, dancing through the air in breathtaking beauty.

"Tir ná Lia will engrave your glory!"

The Wild Hunt rider, with his right hand on his chest, bowed his head in silent tribute before continuing to ride with Avallac'h through the darkness.

His emotions were as cold as if he were no longer human.

"Bang~"

Allen faintly heard the sound of glass breaking behind him, but the Wild Hunt riders seemed unfazed, perhaps accustomed to it.

"How many are left?" The same question came again from beside him.

" Twelve, Lord Avallac'h. Forty-two of our kin have disappeared..."

"Without finding the 'door'..."

Allen paused for a moment, his tone flat as he replied:

"We will eventually be consumed by White Frost..."

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

Allen fell silent.

An inexplicable sense of dread and tragic grandeur gripped him.

The same scene had already repeated forty-two times...

No wonder both "he" and Avallac'h spoke so indifferently.

Next.

The same scene cycled endlessly, with only a few words changing in the same lines, looping five more times.

Some gaps between cycles were long, others short.

He had almost forgotten how long he had been trapped in this space, which Avallac'h had called the "Spiral"—a space starkly different from the one he had seen before.

The path ahead was always shrouded in darkness, unchanged, as if their goal was forever out of reach.

If it weren't for the saddlebags on the remaining Wild Hunt steeds growing increasingly swollen, the hoofbeats fading in the distance, and the mental waves between "Allen" and Avallac'h growing weaker...

He might have thought he was stuck in an endlessly repeating loop.

"What exactly is this system item?" Allen thought in the overwhelming monotony.

Then, at some point, he snapped back to reality.

"How many are left?" came the same question from beside him.

"Five, Lord Avallac'h. Forty-nine of our kin have already disappeared..."

"If we can't find..."

"Allen's" voice faltered suddenly, as though a weight had been lifted. He exhaled with relief, "Sorry, Lord Avallac'h."

"The White Frost has caught up to me..."

Allen: ?

Who are you saying has caught up?

He snapped out of the monotonous daze, as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown over him in the frigid snow.

"Allen" quickly unloaded several swollen saddlebags and tossed them to the remaining three Wild Hunt riders.

"Glory to the Alder Folk!!"

Before Allen could react, "Allen" shouted, jerked the reins, and charged toward the darkness behind them.

At the same time.

A pain like slow torture engulfed him.

Allen noticed that "his" exposed skin had turned to ice crystals, then fluttered away like dazzling blue light dots.

This wasn't normal freezing; the freezing process would usually cause a sense of burning, not this sharp pain, as if every inch of skin was being sliced.

"Ah—"

Caught off guard, Allen instinctively cried out in pain, wanting to escape the cutscene. But then he remembered—the White Frost was right behind the magical barrier.

Besides, if the Wild Hunt could endure such pain, how could he, a Witcher who had undergone the Grass Trials, not handle it?

"Tir ná Lia marks your glory!"

The sorrowful murmur of the Wild Hunt riders echoed from behind.

"Clop, clop, clop~"

The sound of hooves turned.

Allen clenched his fists tightly, his nails sinking into flesh to distract from the pain.

His two sapphire cat-like pupils narrowed into slits, fixating on the barrier and the darkness beyond.

"Thump~"

With a light sound of foam popping, Allen's skeletal steed leapt out of the magical barrier.

In an instant.

A blinding, ghostly blue light engulfed his vision.

"Cling!"

The cold system notification sounded in his ears.

But Allen didn't pay it any mind. Enduring the excruciating pain, reminiscent of the Grass Trials, he forced his eyes open.

The blinding light quickly became bearable.

Allen saw a long, black corridor spiraling upwards, with a bottomless void in the center.

The Spiral!

This was the Spiral!

But unlike the one he had encountered before, the black walls of the Spiral were adorned with countless exquisite paintings... no... they were windows, stretching all the way down to the bottom of the Spiral.

White Frost swirled in from these windows, filling the space with white light, as if trying to dispel the darkness within the Spiral.

"Crack~"

Suddenly, his skeletal steed stumbled, losing its balance.

This caused Allen's perspective to shake violently.

For some reason.

At that moment, Allen had a sudden flash of insight. He peered into the distance and focused on one of the "windows," which was far off.

Then...

The window, radiating intense white light...

Blinking...

"Cling, cling, cling—"

The system notifications sounded wildly in his ears...

What... what was that...?

His thoughts froze, his consciousness spun to a halt, but the pain in his body grew sharper.

"Crack!"

The tearing, breaking pain surged through his limbs and bones.

His arm rolled on the ground, his black iron boots tore off his ankles, and his thighs shattered into three pieces, revealing frosted pink flesh and pale, exposed bone...

As the world spun, his vision blurred to black, then white.

He... lost consciousness.

.....

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