415. Ban Ard Is Too Tragic, But What Does It Have to Do with Me, a Witcher?

Allen almost died.

He really almost did.

The shockwave of the explosion flung him violently through the air. As he regained his senses, he saw the jagged, sharp rocks of the northern cliff rapidly approaching.

While he had magical blessings akin to those of a drowner, blunt force trauma could still kill him.

The common method for dealing with drowners was to trap them in fishing nets and then bash them into pulp with sticks and hammers.

All Allen could do was adjust his posture mid-air to avoid a face-first collision, ensuring he would die with some dignity and not cause more trauma to familiar faces like Vesemir or Ianna when they found his body.

Of course, it was possible he wouldn't die. After all, he still wore the Wild Hunt's armor. There was a chance it might transport him to the Wild Hunt's realm, Tir ná Lia, at the last moment if it deemed the situation critical.

But to be honest, Allen doubted that, in his current state—exhausted from the "Beast Roar: Berserk" ability—a witcher like him could survive in Aen Elle territory.

He wasn't expecting some noble and beautiful elf to nurse him back to health, after which he would triumphantly plunder treasures in Tir ná Lia and return as a god of war, as novels in his past life often portrayed.

More likely, the script would involve an Aen Elle seer detecting him, and he'd end up like Ciri or Yennefer in the Stygga Castle incident orchestrated by Vilgefortz—imprisoned in a dungeon or laboratory.

There, he'd be subjected to endless experiments aimed at extracting the Gate of Ard Gaeth or his witcher journal from his body, dying in unbearable torment and humiliation.

Thus, in the milliseconds before he was about to crash into the cliff, Allen found himself pondering a serious question:

Should he retract the Wild Hunt's armor?

In other words, should he bet on the slim chance of surviving in Tir ná Lia, or should he choose a clean death?

Oddly enough, when this thought crossed his mind, he found the latter option strangely… appealing.

The next moment—

"Whoosh!"

A gust of wind suddenly swept up from the ground, flipping him into the air just as he was about to hit the cliff.

"Royal Griffin?"

Allen spun mid-air, momentarily stunned.

He had thought about signaling the griffin earlier, but after activating [Monster Hunt], the explosion had left him dazed before he could even consider it.

By the time he came to, the cliff was dangerously close.

There wasn't even enough time in those three or four seconds to compose a final message, let alone for the griffin at the valley's mouth to locate him, take off, dodge the blast's aftermath, and catch him mid-air.

Yet somehow, the Royal Griffin pulled it off.

"Caw!"

The griffin seemed to sense Allen's amazement, radiating a wave of pride through their mental connection, as if seeking praise.

Before Allen could process this, he felt a sharp tug on the back collar of his chest plate. His vision blurred as the griffin grabbed him, burying him in its tough black mane.

"Good girl!"

Allen praised her mentally, mustering the last of his strength to grip the griffin's mane tightly.

"Caw!"

The griffin let out a satisfied cry, flapping her wings as she ascended higher into the sky.

"I'm alive…"

The cool summer night breeze swept over him as Allen exhaled deeply, his body finally relaxing.

The exhaustion clouding his mind, along with the soreness and weakness in his muscles, surged all at once. However, he didn't give in to the drowsiness urging him to close his eyes. Instead, he bit his tongue to stay alert.

After all…

It wasn't over yet.

With great difficulty, he fished a vial of White Honey from his pouch and drank it to purge toxins.

The dark veins at the edges of his eyes, caused by the potions' toxicity, began to fade as the toxins were expelled through his sweat. His complexion looked much better.

But when he willed the Wild Hunt's armor back into his witcher journal—

The disappearance of the Greaves - Arcane Amplifier drained his mutated organ near his heart, leaving it as dry as a winter spring.

The loss of the Gauntlets - Iron Grip, which enhanced his strength, caused his face to turn as pale as a corpse.

Both effects combined left Allen so weak that his hands trembled, nearly causing him to lose his grip and fall into the high-altitude winds.

"Caw!"

The griffin cried out in concern, tilting her wings.

"I'm fine, girl." Allen panted heavily, his trembling hands clutching the griffin's mane again.

"Under [Monster Hunt], the 'Beast Roar: Berserk' was indeed several times more powerful than before, but the side effects were just as severe," he reflected, feeling the overwhelming weakness in every part of his body. "Right now, I have the strength of a five- or six-year-old child at best…"

"At least two days are needed for a full recovery," Allen sighed.

Two days…

In the past, the longest it ever took was two hours, and if "Beast Roar: Berserk" ended quickly, half an hour would suffice.

And it wouldn't leave him in a state like this—where even a farmer with a pitchfork could probably take him down, let alone a scurver or a alghoul.

"But with the dark god driven away, two days isn't really that big of a…"

Allen's words trailed off as his ears twitched.

After the explosion subsided, a sound seemed to rise from the ground…

No, to be more precise, it was the sound of cheering.

Loud, jubilant cheers surged from the earth and soared into the skies.

Even from hundreds of meters in the air, the joy and elation were infectious enough to make Allen unconsciously curl the corners of his mouth into a smile.

And that wasn't all.

Someone—no, everyone—was shouting his name.

He could hear his name being called, along with a slew of embarrassing titles. He heard…

The marks he had left on this world.

"Feels pretty good!" Allen chuckled, the exhaustion deep within him seeming to ease somewhat. "Though being called Ellander's Knight, May Day King, Wraith Slayer, Blue Reaper… it's getting a bit much."

"There's no way this 'good girl' can carry so many people, right?"

"Don't you think so?" Allen smiled and gently patted the griffin's neck.

"Caw?"

The griffin tilted her head, trying to look at her back, but her thick mane blocked her view.

Her wings tilted, nearly causing Allen to fall off before she stopped.

"Hahaha!"

Allen laughed heartily at the griffin's antics. "They're not real people, don't bother looking."

"Caw??"

After some lighthearted banter, Allen felt slightly less weak.

Though he still had the strength of a five- or six-year-old, he could now stand normally while holding onto the griffin's mane.

"It's time to let everyone know I'm okay," Allen said as he steadied himself on the griffin. He glanced down and saw the dust below gradually dissipating. Taking a deep breath, he sent a mental command, "Let's go down, good girl."

"Caw!"

The griffin, as if understanding her master's condition, gently flapped her wings and descended toward the ground.

"This good girl is getting more and more intelligent," Allen silently praised again.

As they drew closer to the ground, Allen's gaze involuntarily focused on the center of the valley.

Of course, his attention wasn't on confirming whether the summoning ritual and the dark god had been completely eradicated.

[Monster Hunt] had always been thorough and reliable.

Besides, the tone of the dark god's final mental outburst clearly indicated that [Monster Hunt] had inflicted significant "losses" on it, though…

Allen wasn't sure what exactly those "losses" entailed. He was curious about what [Monster Hunt] was—or rather, what kind of entity the witcher journal that granted him [Monster Hunt] represented, to the extent that it could even exploit an dark god.

His attention was fixed on the valley because, before the dark god was banished, the Conjunction of the Spheres had brought in three foreign visitors.

The large creature brought by the ghoul's Conjunction of the Spheres had been flung away by the summoning ritual's tentacles, its fate uncertain, and could likely be ignored.

The rotfiend was a smaller creature. While it might be stronger than a drowner king, there were limits to its power.

But the alghoul was no small creature. Although somewhat weaker, it was still a legitimate large monster.

What kind of creature would be brought in by the Conjunction of the Spheres caused by a large monster?

Allen pondered this and urged the griffin to descend a bit faster.

When the summoning ritual was still active, anything summoned by the Conjunction of the Spheres would have been an ally.

But now that the ritual had been destroyed, they were threats—especially since the human coalition was still basking in the joy of banishing the dark god.

Of course, even if Allen arrived, he wouldn't be able to fight in his current state. But the griffin and her claws could teach those creatures the meaning of gravity in this world.

Provided those monsters hadn't recovered their strength from the effects of the Conjunction of the Spheres and the dark god's explosion.

To be honest, though, even if they had recovered, it wasn't a big deal. The valley still contained plenty of Necrophages, so two more wouldn't make much difference.

However, those two "foreign visitors" were unlike the familiar alghoul or scurver. Being potential unfamiliar large monsters, their abilities might be strange or unpredictable.

If things could be resolved simply, it was better to keep them simple.

"Not being able to settle the hunt immediately is the annoying part," Allen frowned, staring at the smoke-filled valley. "Right now, there's no way to determine which monsters are dead and which are still alive."

The hunting rewards had not yet been settled.

The Witcher Journal had a disengagement judgment system that Allen couldn't fully understand but found to be incredibly stringent. Moreover, as his personal level and evaluation in the notes increased, the criteria for disengagement became even stricter.

Back when he was in Kaer Morhen, he could exploit safe disengagement to snag small amounts of experience points.

But ever since his evaluation changed from "Witcher Novice" to "Witcher Hunter," his little tricks were entirely eliminated.

It seemed that both absolute safety in the environment and his own perception of being entirely out of combat were required for rewards to be calculated.

The dusty valley was drawing closer, with only the golden glow near the mouth of the valley standing out against the gray.

Allen's sharp witcher senses allowed him to see the crowd cheering "Godslayer," as well as the Necrophages that were gradually being revealed as the dust settled.

He paid little attention to his new title. Though he felt slightly embarrassed—after all, he had only banished the dark god, not truly killed it.

But titles weren't something one chose for oneself. Once the public accepted a title, it became impossible to shake off, so it wasn't something Allen had any say over at the moment.

What did catch his attention, however, was the sight of the Necrophages screaming and wailing on the ground. It suddenly reminded him of something very important.

He quickly opened the Witcher Journal with a thought.

First, he checked the system notifications for records, and then, to be sure, opened the quest list.

Necrophages:

----------

[Hunting Quest: Ghoul II (Kill Drowners 213/250)]

[Hunting Quest: Rotfiend II (Kill Rotfiends 73/100)]

[Hunting Quest: Alghoul II (Kill Alghouls 13/20)]

[Hunting Quest: Scurver I (Kill Scurvers 7/10)]

----------

"...37 ghouls… 27 rotfiends… 7 alghouls… 3 scurvers…"

Cold sweat instantly broke out on Allen's forehead.

Those numbers were already quite significant under normal circumstances.

Even for thirty-something ghouls, which were the most common, finding them required quite some time, given that they usually roamed in small groups of four or five.

Not to mention the rarer rotfiends, or the large Necrophages like alghouls and scurvers.

Ordinary witchers might go an entire year without encountering one.

But…

But!

This time was different—completely different. The entire valley was crawling with Necrophages.

With just a few casual swings of the summoning ritual's tentacles under his influence, creatures that were typically hard to find were being trampled like ants on the roadside.

Had his final [Monster Hunt] attack been delayed by even a few seconds, the 37 ghouls might have been wiped out in an instant, along with the rotfiends, alghouls, and scurvers.

The scurvers were fine since they were only part of a first-stage hunting quest.

But if the second-stage hunting quests for ghouls, rotfiends, and alghouls were accidentally completed…

Just the thought of this possibility sent a shiver down Allen's spine.

After the Witcher Apprentice Tournament and the surreal merging of worlds caused by the drowners' dimension, everyone—including sorceresses—was utterly exhausted and couldn't handle another dimensional fusion event.

"Still, I do need to find a place to resolve these nearly-complete hunting quests…"

Allen rubbed the stubble on his chin, pondering: "First off, it definitely can't be Ellander, and the place must have strong defenses, high walls… hmm… well, walls aren't necessarily essential. What's more important is the ability to react quickly…"

"Thinking about it this way…"

Allen thoughtfully raised his head to look northeast, toward the starry night sky.

"…That place is indeed strong. Even in a weakened state, it's still one of the most powerful locations in the Northern Continent…"

"And quick to react… tsk, tsk…"

"Is there anywhere else on the Northern Continent more vigilant than that place?"

"There are no civilians there either, and with the threat of the Wild Hunt, it's foreseeable that the Northern nations' resources will be funneled to that location for support…"

"That's not all. No matter what happens there, it wouldn't raise any suspicion. As long as I keep things discreet, no one will connect it back to me."

The more he thought about it, the more the brilliant blue light in his cat-like eyes gleamed. "It's practically the perfect location for a Conjunction of the Spheres or a dimensional fusion!"

"But doing that… wouldn't it be a bit too harsh, too targeted?"

Allen considered for a moment, and then, involuntarily, the corners of his lips curled up.

"Well…"

"What does it matter to me, a witcher, if Ban Ard suffers?"

.....

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