The Witcher: Wolf School's Hunting Notes

When the witchers returned to the crossroads, the moon was still high in the night sky.

The campfire crackled and popped, while snores rose intermittently from the tents, making the howling mountain wind feel less desolate and adding a touch of life to the scene.

"Is it your turn to keep watch tonight?"

The two witchers tied their horses and asked the approaching witcher, Krei, "Where are the merchants, Ryan and Charles?"

"Just saw them heading that way."

Krei, still groggy, pointed toward a thicket of bushes where shadows of trees and leaves flickered faintly, seemingly illuminated by firelight. There were likely people there.

Vesemir and Allen exchanged glances.

Ryan and Charles had been keeping watch with Krei to discuss the situation in Vergen that Allen and Vesemir had scouted. But for some reason, they had chosen to hide in a corner.

Smack!

Vesemir gave Krei a slap on the back of his neck, jolting the young witcher awake instantly.

"Focus while you're on watch; no dozing off!" the witcher master scolded softly before heading in the direction Krei had pointed.

Allen cast a sympathetic glance at the younger witcher, who was making a grimace, and followed close behind.

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Rustle, rustle.

After only a few steps deeper into the woods, the night wind carried faint, fragmented voices.

"…Today was Angren Free Company's failure… the payment…" Ryan's voice was broken up by the chaotic wind.

"Ryan, let's not bring it up again," came the voice of the plump merchant, Charles, gradually becoming clearer as they walked closer. "We've worked together for so many years… Today… Today's mishap was all caused by Sally's impulsiveness. It even cost you so many brothers…"

"Charles, Sally is still young. Ultimately, it's my fault for not considering it thoroughly… I feel guilty taking this money…"

"Don't be stubborn, Ryan. You're not young anymore either… If you don't take this payment, what about your fallen brothers? How will you take care of their families…"

"I…"

"Enough. If you truly feel guilty, then be more vigilant on the rest of this journey. Make sure we safely reach Lasterburg…"

"But…"

"It wasn't our fault. Who could have expected that the usual route would suddenly become a battlefield between Kaedwen and Aedirn? War, war—it's war that took my Lys…"

Listening to the conversation, the witchers exchanged glances.

Typically, it was mercenaries—those who sold their strength and lived by the sword—who complained about insufficient pay, leading to disputes with their employers.

But it was rare to see mercenaries proactively offer to reduce their pay because they felt they had failed to protect their employer.

A mercenary desperate to decline payment, and a merchant insistent on giving it—this was indeed unusual…

However…

Since the conversation wasn't about plotting anything against them, the two witchers decided not to eavesdrop further.

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Ahem.

Vesemir cleared his throat and made some noise deliberately.

It didn't take long for two figures—a tall one and a plump one holding torches—to emerge from the woods.

In the torchlight, the stout merchant Charles appeared pale, his hair slightly disheveled, and he seemed in poor condition.

But when he saw Allen and Vesemir, he quickly stepped forward, forcing a smile as he asked urgently: "Master Vesemir, Master Allen, what's the situation in Vergen? Is it under siege? Should we take a detour?"

"Vergen is perfectly fine, everything is normal. Rest for the night; you can head out in the morning," Vesemir replied with a sheepish smile. "It turns out the information we received was false."

"That happens. No harm done; it's a relief to hear everything's fine," the plump merchant sighed in apparent relief.

He tactfully refrained from asking what kind of false information could make nine skilled witchers rush to Vergen.

Just as the witchers hadn't inquired why the merchants were traveling around recklessly during a time of war.

"But since it was false information, what are your plans now?" Ryan asked curiously as he maneuvered his torch around low-hanging branches.

Charles' eyes lit up at the question, and he quickly added, "If you haven't decided on your next destination, why not travel with us to Lasterburg? We'll make sure the pay is worth your while."

"No," Vesemir said, glancing at Allen and shaking his head. "We have other matters to attend to and will part ways with you after leaving Vergen tomorrow."

"That's a shame…" Charles said, clearly disappointed.

As they headed back toward the camp, Allen suddenly seemed to recall something.

"By the way," he said, "it would be best for you to avoid Vengerberg if you pass near it."

Charles and Ryan both stopped, puzzled.

"Why?"

"Word is that there are daily monster attacks there," Allen explained. "And even before Aedirn declared war on Kaedwen two months ago, Vengerberg was rounding up armed mercenaries and drifters to send to the frontlines. The situation is likely even worse now."

The merchant and the mercenary exchanged glances before turning back to Allen, expressing their thanks simultaneously.

Vengerberg, after all, was Aedirn's capital—a prosperous city with well-maintained roads. The merchant caravan had indeed been planning to restock supplies there.

If things were as the witchers described, they might have entered the city only to find themselves trapped.

"We owe you both another huge favor…" Ryan said with a sigh.

Allen, smiling, quipped, "Then how about repaying one now?"

Ryan froze briefly, then immediately stopped walking, turning to face the witcher solemnly.

"Master Allen, please speak. The Angren Free Company will do our best to oblige."

"It's nothing major," Allen said, waving his hand to show it wasn't a big deal. "Kaer Morhen is isolated in the mountains, and information is slow to reach us. This false information had us running in vain. I'd like to ask if you could send a letter to Kaer Morhen every month or two, recording any events you think the School of the Wolf should know about."

"Ah, that's hardly a big favor," Ryan said, shaking his head.

"Our Charles Trading Company can handle that too," the merchant chimed in quickly. "Even though our scale isn't large yet, we have branches in Aedirn, Kaedwen, Temeria, and the United Kingdom of Lyria and Rivia."

"Then I'll leave it to you," Allen said with a warm smile.

The delays caused by outdated information had been frustrating.

The situation in Vergen hadn't been a secret, yet because of the lack of timely information, Vesemir's status, and the School's strained relations, they had rushed over in haste.

At least this time, it was a harmless request they could take or leave.

But what about the next time?

The environment for witchers on the Continent was visibly deteriorating, and who could guarantee that the next situation wouldn't be a trap?

Allen knew they couldn't wait until everything was perfect or until the School had enough members to station someone in every major city. He needed to start building a basic intelligence network, even if it was scattered and makeshift.

Though Allen was no expert in such matters, he had to try something.

Ryan and Charles seemed trustworthy, and for now, the task didn't demand complete reliability.

"This is our honor."

"Our great honor."

Both of them readily agreed and began asking how to deliver letters to Kaer Morhen.

"Uh..."

This was something Allen really didn't know much about.

All this time, delivering and receiving letters had always been Vesemir's responsibility.

"Below the Blue Mountains where Kaer Morhen is located, there's a village called Kael. You can..." Vesemir seemed to let out a soft sigh, his expression complicated as he glanced at Allen, before explaining the method to send the letters step by step.

Once the master witcher finished explaining, Allen thought for a moment and said, "Sending letters isn't cheap, and we can't let you bear the cost..."

"Master Allen, please don't say that!" Ryan said urgently. "If not for you, I'd have long been ghoul food, and the Angren Free Company would have been wiped out..."

"Exactly! Besides, the cost of sending a letter isn't that high..." Charles chimed in.

"Maybe not for one or two months, but in the long run, it's not sustainable," Allen interrupted, shaking his head.

He thought for a moment, then retrieved a few vials of Necrophage Oil from his pouch and handed them to Ryan.

"This is Necrophage Oil. Coat your blade with it, and it'll make fighting drowners, ghouls, and other necrophages much easier."

Ryan instinctively took the bottles, about to argue further, but froze in surprise.

Before he could say anything, Charles carefully cradled the vials in both hands, inspecting them with reverence.

"Master Allen, you're being modest. This… this is far more than 'a little easier.'"

"Hm? You've heard of Necrophage Oil?" Allen asked curiously.

Charles nodded.

"Half a month ago, while passing through La Valette, I saw it. It's been widely discussed across Temeria. With this oil on a blade, even a steel sword can function like a silver one."

"What?!"

Ryan exclaimed, nearly dropping the vials. Recovering, he clutched the red-tinted potion tightly to his chest, terrified of losing it.

Having fought ghouls earlier in the day, he knew better than anyone the significance of a steel sword functioning as a silver one.

Silver weapons were expensive and wore out quickly.

Though the Angren Free Company provided its members with silver weapons, they were often just thinly silver-coated.

When faced with hordes of ghouls like earlier, most of those coatings wore off quickly.

As the battle dragged on, most mercenaries could only use shields to fend off the creatures, leaving only the heavily armored few to deal any real damage.

Had they possessed Necrophage Oil then, they might not have been able to destroy the ghouls entirely, but their front line would have held much longer.

"Master Allen, where can we buy this potion? How much for a vial?" Ryan asked hesitantly, his eagerness plain.

"You can't buy it," Charles interjected, shaking his head. "It's produced by the Alchemy Workshop of Vera the Red Fox in Aretuza. Currently, only the Witcher Corps of Aedirn has access to it."

"What?! Even the royal guards in Vizima, Temeria's capital, don't have it yet?" Ryan was stunned.

Charles, who clearly had researched Necrophage Oil, nodded firmly.

It was no wonder. As long as drowners and ghouls existed in this world, no merchant could resist the allure of such a commodity.

Ryan was crestfallen for a moment before realizing something didn't add up.

Wait! If even Vizima doesn't have this, how did I get it?

Charles seemed to come to the same realization. The two turned simultaneously to Allen.

"Necrophage Oil is Allen's invention," Vesemir said, glancing at Allen, who didn't object, and continued, "His alchemy teacher is none other than Vera the Red Fox, and her workshop produces and sells potions on his behalf."

Charles and Ryan: ?

A witcher—masters of swordplay and basic magic—also an alchemist, apprenticed to the famous Vera, inventing revolutionary alchemical formulas?

These seemingly contradictory identities combined in one person?

And then they studied Allen's youthful yet commanding demeanor. And he's only fourteen!

Under their incredulous stares, Allen gave a slight nod.

"The Necrophage Oil formula is indeed mine."

For a moment, the forest was silent except for the rustling leaves in the mountain wind and the occasional popping of torch resin.

"It all makes sense now..." Charles's plump face lit up with excitement, though he struggled to contain it. "Master Allen and Master Vesemir were both in Aedirn during the May Festival over a month ago."

"Necrophage Oil started circulating shortly after."

"Incredible... truly incredible. Master Allen, not only have you achieved the rank of Witcher Master at such a young age, but you've also made remarkable strides in alchemy..."

Charles, ever the merchant, quickly moved from astonishment to effusive praise.

Allen, however, understood the subtext behind his words.

"You want to obtain the rights to sell Necrophage Oil?" he asked.

Charles stiffened, his pale, round face shaking in denial. Before he could reply, Allen cut him off.

"You can."

"Uh?" Charles froze, then immediately turned serious. "What do I need to offer in exchange?"

"Bring Ryan along," Allen said, glancing at the mercenary captain. "And, as we discussed earlier, send regular reports to Kaer Morhen. That's all."

"When you meet Vera, I'll let her know your name for the workshop's records."

To Charles and Ryan, Necrophage Oil might be a priceless treasure. To Allen, it was just another mundane potion.

After all, granting distribution rights to a merchant only helped him make more money.

As for concerns about affecting other witchers' livelihoods...

The conjunction has changed the land around Ban Ard that even Aedirn was starting to feel the effects.

In the future, witchers were more likely to lament having too many monsters to hunt rather than too few.

"Only for Necrophage Oil at the moment," Allen added.

"Only for Necrophage Oil?" Charles hesitated. Was he implying there were other types of oils?

After a few seconds of hesitation, Charles asked, "Why are you being so generous with us?"

Allen replied nonchalantly, "Maybe I just find you two agreeable."

With that, he nodded to Vesemir, and the two witchers headed back to camp, leaving Charles and Ryan standing there in stunned silence.

"Charles," Ryan finally asked, "are we repaying a favor or owing an even bigger one?"

.....

📢20 advanced chapters on p@treaon📢

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339. Strange Strengths and Lifts.

340. Hunting the Royal Griffin.

341. The Demon Opened Its Crimson Eyes.

342. The Disappearance of the Seven Witchers.

343. Vesemir's Anger and Astonishment.