437. Primal Magic?!!

"After a long period of recovery, suddenly engaging in intense combat is not just hard on the muscles—

The pressure on internal organs would reach its peak..."

"It's not just after serious injuries that one needs rehabilitation training. Before every battle, some amount of warm-up should be done as well..."

"Of course, emergencies are another matter entirely..."

"But don't your School of the Wolf witchers always believe that...

'The outcome of a battle is already determined the moment you accept the contract'?"

"Then why not consider incorporating a thorough warm-up as part of battle preparation?

Don't take my words lightly.

I've read the Archpriestess's research on the physical structure of School of the Wolf witchers..."

"You may be extraordinary, and your lifespan long—but structurally, your organs are no different from ordinary humans..."

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

Although Vesemir was not particularly close to Nenneke, the next Archpriestess of the temple, it wasn't as if they had never met before.

In fact, due to the complicated relationship between Chief Sol and Lady Vera, along with Vera's close ties to Archpriestess Ianna, the School of the Wolf had fairly good relations with the Temple of Melitele.

Many times, when witchers took contracts in Temeria and got injured, they would come to the temple for treatment.

Due to Melitele's great reputation among commoners, the temple was also useful for dealing with troublesome employers or tight-lipped witnesses—witchers would often request the priests to mediate.

Not to mention, the Temple of Melitele was one of the biggest employers of the School of the Wolf, frequently issuing high-quality contracts.

Unlike most contracts, taking on assignments from the Temple of Melitele meant not having to deal with the usual mess of land disputes, power struggles, and all the other nonsense that often came with the job. So, in truth, Vesemir had a very good relationship with the temple.

More than a decade ago—before Chief Sol and Lady Vera had some sort of major falling-out—he had been a frequent visitor to the Temple of Melitele.

Barring any unexpected circumstances, he would visit at least once a year.

To put it bluntly—

Given Nenneke's age, there was a real chance that Vesemir had held her in his arms when she was just a child. But never, in all these years, had he realized just how damn talkative she was.

Throughout their entire journey here, even someone like Vesemir—a master witcher—was feeling dizzy from all her chatter.

"Although your unnatural mutations have made your adrenal medulla far more developed than normal humans, allowing for faster reaction speeds, that doesn't mean—"

"Let me teach you a few movements to better avoid unexpected injuries..."

Nenneke continued to lecture him in a self-assured manner, spouting terms that made zero sense to him.

He had no clue about adrenal medulla, adrenaline, muscle fascia network structures, or the relationship between oxygen intake and cardiac obstructions…

As far as he was concerned, it was simple—

"If you're not injured, swing your sword and fight. If you're injured, get treated. That's all there is to it."

For centuries, witchers had followed this approach, and they always would.

Of course—

Vesemir only dared to think this.

It wasn't that he was afraid of Nenneke—she was just a twenty-something-year-old priestess. But the last time he had voiced his thoughts aloud, she had lectured him nonstop for the rest of the trip.

Her arguments were filled with so many grand theories that he couldn't even begin to refute them.

Who could endure that?

Just as Nenneke was about to continue—

"BZZZ~"

The School of the Wolf medallion on Vesemir's leather armor suddenly trembled.

His head snapped toward the distant wooden cabin.

"Don't underestimate… what's wrong?"

Nenneke frowned at his sudden reaction, her gaze shifting to the fierce-looking wolf's head hanging on his chest.

"It's nothing…"

Vesemir shook his head, confirming the source of the magical disturbance.

This was the Temple of Melitele—and that was Allen's cabin—

A small magical fluctuation wasn't anything to be alarmed about…

"ZIII—"

The sound of the medallion suddenly sharpened, becoming a piercing, high-pitched vibration.

The ferocious wolf medallion suddenly leaped up from Vesemir's leather armor, making his eyes widen in shock.

Before he could even process why Allen was causing such a commotion in his room—

"BOOM~"

A cataclysmic force, as if carrying the weight of heaven and earth collapsing, erupted from the wooden cabin.

Dust on the ground was lifted into the air, surging forward like a tidal wave, engulfing everything in its path.

Vesemir was caught off guard as the overwhelming force crashed into him.

A deep, indescribable insignificance rose within him—

It was as though he stood at the base of the mystical Blue Mountains, staring up at a colossal, sky-piercing peak.

But then—the chilling intent of death followed immediately after, like the mythical River Styx bursting from the earth's crevices, flowing past him.

It sought to strip his soul from his body, draining every last trace of his life force.

For a fleeting moment—

His mind wavered.

Then, as he snapped back to reality, he realized—he was still standing in place.

He had not been crushed beneath a mountain.

Nor had his soul been taken by the lifeless river of the underworld.

"Wh-what… was that?" Nenneke's face was pale, her pupils trembling.

"A god…" Vesemir struggled to suppress the instinctual fear rising within him.

"That was an dark god."

Meanwhile, his thoughts churned frantically.

There was no mistake—it was an dark god.

He had seen that suffocating, all-consuming darkness before—in the nightmarish, dragon-like, single-eyed gaze of an ancient being…

But why?

Why would the divine presence behind a demonic summoning ritual explode with such terrifying might within the Temple of Melitele?

Could it be…

His golden-amber pupils shrank into molten slits, trembling with dread.

"Allen!"

"Allen!"

Vesemir shouted in panic, rushing toward the wooden cabin, now obscured by the swirling dust.

An dark god… within the goddess's temple?

Nenneke, having never witnessed such a phenomenon before, stood frozen for a second.

An overwhelming sense of absurdity and disbelief filled her heart.

Her instinct was to deny it—

But the divine pressure still lingered in the air, carried by the drifting dust.

It told her—this was real.

There was truly a "Presence" here, recklessly unleashing its might on the very grounds of the goddess.

"What is 'It' trying to do?!!"

Nenneke instinctively followed Vesemir, who was gradually disappearing into the swirling dust, rushing toward the wooden cabin—but after just two steps, she stopped in her tracks.

She was a priestess, not a witcher.

Even though the goddess's divine favor had been growing richer and stronger recently, she was no match for the presence that had just released that terrifying pressure.

Rushing in recklessly would only burden Allen and Vesemir.

If an dark god had truly descended upon the Temple of Melitele, her first duty was to alert the Archpriestess immediately.

Allen…

The thought that Allen had made no sound at all filled Nenneke with dread.

Had he been subdued so silently?

Could it be that the dark god had actually manifested?

But…

Even grand demon-summoning rituals had failed at the final step, unable to bring a god into the world.

How could an dark god appear so quietly—and even descend within the domain of another deity?

Her tangled thoughts spiraled in confusion, unable to pinpoint the flaw in her reasoning.

But once she had made her decision, she clutched the hem of her simple robe and turned resolutely toward the hall where Ianna resided. However, before she could take more than a few steps—

"Priestess Nenneke!"

Vesemir's voice suddenly rang out from within the thick dust.

Nenneke froze.

She turned her head—but did not respond, nor did she move toward the voice.

Instead, she cautiously stepped backward, keeping her eyes fixed in the direction of the sound.

"Whoosh—"

A violent gust of wind suddenly surged out from the depths of the haze.

Caught off guard, Nenneke barely managed to step back before the dust that had clouded her vision was completely swept away.

Beneath the starry sky, the wooden cabin stood firmly upon the dimly lit grass.

A single lantern swayed gently beneath the eaves.

But only the lantern swayed.

The earth-shattering, mountain-toppling force from moments ago—

As if it had been nothing but an illusion.

Nenneke, still caught in the eerie stillness, instinctively halted her steps.

That was when she suddenly realized—

At some unknown moment, that bone-chilling, overwhelming divine pressure had completely vanished without a trace.

"It's alright, Priestess Nenneke…"

Vesemir half-opened the wooden door, his expression unreadable—a mix of emotions that Nenneke could not quite describe.

He spoke only half a sentence, then paused, hesitated, and added:

"At least… I think it should be alright."

"What do you mean?"

Nenneke still did not step forward immediately.

Instead, she closely examined Vesemir from head to toe, whispered a few prayers, and then waved her hand, casting small golden sparks of divine light onto him.

Only after ensuring the goddess's power had not been blocked did she finally relax completely.

Because if an dark god could not only descend silently into a holy temple, but could also suppress even the divine magic of Melitele herself—

Then whether she fled or notified the Archpriestess no longer mattered.

Besides, such an overwhelming, arrogant presence—as if it wanted all of Ellander to know of its descent—was completely at odds with the idea of silently concealing divine magic.

Vesemir allowed Nenneke to cast her spell.

Once the glow of divine magic faded from his body, and Nenneke finally relaxed from her tense, wary state, he hurriedly said: "Priestess Nenneke, come take a look—Allen's condition…"

"It's… strange."

Strange?

Nenneke, puzzled, stepped forward.

The half-open wooden door revealed nothing but pitch-black darkness—as if some devouring beast lurked inside.

Only when she reached Vesemir's side did she faintly glimpse a dim light emanating from within.

"Where is Allen?" she asked, frowning.

Vesemir pointed inside but hesitated to speak.

Nenneke took a deep breath and leaned forward to peer through the doorway.

The moment she saw the scene inside, she froze completely.

In the small wooden cabin, a transparent green sphere hovered silently in midair.

Inside the sphere, Allen lay curled up with his eyes closed, breathing steadily in sleep.

His limbs were folded inward, his head lowered, resembling an unborn child in the womb, gently rotating along with the sphere's motion.

Above him, the wooden charms of various shapes—mostly depictions of Melitele's threefold aspect—swayed as if the entire cabin itself had become Allen's cradle.

Nenneke had imagined many possible scenarios upon entering the cabin.

Perhaps Allen had slain a monster, or lay gravely injured, maybe even unconscious.

She had even briefly feared that, upon looking inside, she would lock eyes with a possessing dark god, staring back through Allen's gaze.

But she had never expected that the source of the overwhelming divine presence would be such a scene of utter serenity.

Even so…

Nenneke's gaze locked onto the green sphere once again.

A child… a cradle… flesh… life…

"Gestation…"

"What… is being nurtured here?"

An uneasy feeling crept up her spine.

She couldn't understand how Vesemir could stand so calmly at the doorway in this moment.

Vesemir seemed to sense her thoughts and pointed to the wall beside her.

On the wooden wall, someone had carved a few words with a sword: "I'm fine, no need to wor—"

The characters were messy, and the urgency behind them was evident in every stroke.

More importantly, the message was unfinished.

But Nenneke could easily guess—the moment Allen heard them coming, he had hastily carved the words to reassure them.

So…

"Allen really caused all this commotion?"

Nenneke found it inconceivable.

Between a fourteen-year-old witcher unleashing an awe-inspiring, godlike presence and an actual god descending, the latter seemed far more logical to her.

"Do you really believe Allen did this?" Nenneke couldn't help but ask.

Vesemir was silent for a moment.

"I don't know," he shook his head, "but if you spend enough time with Allen, you'll realize—nothing that happens around him is surprising…"

"Even this?"

"Even this." Vesemir nodded, his expression unreadable.

This is nothing.

If we're talking about scale, Ban Ard hasn't even spoken yet…

Honestly, when he first opened the cabin door, he had been shocked too. But the moment he saw Allen's familiar messy handwriting on the wall, his heart somehow calmed down.

Nenneke found it baffling, but seeing Vesemir so relaxed, she let out a small sigh of relief.

She cautiously took two steps toward Allen, sensing the wavering energy in the air.

"This is… magic?" Nenneke furrowed her brows. "Green magic… I feel like I've heard of this before…"

"I've seen it," Vesemir said, his expression complicated. "On a Source."

"A Source?" Nenneke suddenly understood. "This is Primal Magic—the purest, most ancient magic recorded in books. But…"

She looked at Allen again.

Primal Magic completely enveloped him, gentle and serene, like the most precious emerald.

"Is Primal Magic supposed to be this calm?"

"I remember that even Sources couldn't fully control this power—it's more violent and unstable than fire magic."

"In 1123, when Hen Gedymdeith last revealed his emerald magic, he lost control and leveled half a city…"

"And in the Sorcerer's Civil War of 834, the battle between Pure White Falarde and the other Sources created the present-day Pontar Valley…"

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

"No… something's not right." Nenneke shook her head to herself. "More importantly—why does a witcher have any connection to Primal Magic, which belongs exclusively to Sources?"

Vesemir remained silent.

Not because he didn't want to answer, but because he didn't know.

"Is Allen alright?" he asked.

"At least externally, there are no visible injuries," Nenneke shook her head. "But a more precise examination would require divine magic, and divine magic likely won't be able to penetrate the Primal Magic barrier. It could also have unpredictable…"

"Then forget it." Vesemir shook his head repeatedly.

The cabin fell into silence.

They had no way to do anything about Allen's condition. Waiting seemed to be their only option.

Wrapped in the green, possibly Primal Magic barrier, Allen floated gently rotating. They could see his eyelids twitch, as if he were dreaming.

"I'll go notify the Archpriestess. She might know what to do…"

After a while, Nenneke couldn't sit still any longer and got up to leave.

Just then—

Inside the swirling Primal Magic—

Allen stretched lazily.

.....

📢Advanced chapters on p@treaon📢

For advance chapters: p@treon.com/Uchiha_Itachi007 (replace @ with a)

1. 30 advanced chapters of American Comics: Multiverse of Madness.

2. 30 advanced chapters of Warhammer, but Emperor's Chosen.

3. 20 advanced chapters of The Witcher: Wolf School's Hunting Notes.