Chief Sol had always been a very mysterious person in Allen's eyes.
The world of Witchers lacked entertainment.
In the harsh winter of Kaer Morhen, after the Witchers in the castle hall finished drinking and boasting about their feats accumulated over the year, the only thing left to do was to sweat it out in the training grounds of the Ancient Sea Fortress, exchanging emotions through steel, muscle, and magic.
Thus, if one was diligent enough, spending time at a small training ground would allow them to observe all the Wolf School Witchers' combat techniques before spring arrived.
Every Witcher here, including a few Witcher Masters, participated—except for Chief Sol.
The Chief never engaged in such duels, and Allen had never seen any Witcher Master invite him to one.
But this was unusual.
The so-called winter retreat of the Wolf School began around late October or early November and lasted until March of the following year.
Each Witcher typically spent about three months in Kaer Morhen.
Swordsmanship and Signs were skills meant for killing—if left unpracticed, the muscle memory that had been ingrained would fade.
Going three months without training meant that when spring came and contracts resumed, rusted skills would harshly remind the careless Witcher of their negligence.
Simple solo sword practice wasn't enough either; a comfortable environment dulled the senses. Thus, high-intensity duels and sparring sessions were crucial to prevent the harsh snow and wind from dulling the Witchers' lifeblood—their swords.
Moreover, the Chief was usually the first to return to the Ancient Sea Fortress and the last to leave.
That meant he neglected his combat skills for at least four months.
Even before Allen, Hughes, Bond, and Fred followed Vesemir down the mountain, Allen had wondered—
Had the Chief of the Wolf School completely transitioned into an administrative leader, to the point where his strength was no longer a factor, and that's why no Witcher Master ever challenged him?
After all, the Wolf School wasn't a power-based organization that adhered strictly to survival of the fittest.
During the cold winter, everyone was just looking for a place to drink, fight, and keep warm together.
That was until the Spring Equinox Apprentice Tournament.
Chief Sol made a move. It was the first time Allen had ever seen—no, he hadn't even seen when the Chief drew his sword. By the time he registered it, two Bog Nymphs and a drowner king had already been sliced into magical "sticks" and pushed in front of him.
For a long time after that, Allen couldn't forget the scene—when he had painstakingly built up his [Monster Hunt] progress and finally killed the drowner king—
Only to look up and see three enormous, harmlessly "processed" magical creatures lying before him.
These were three large monsters—killing just one would qualify a Witcher as a master.
In the centuries-long history of the Wolf School, only nine Witchers, including the Chief and Allen, had ever done so.
When Vesemir spoke of the Chief's strength, Allen suddenly realized something—
Under the same conditions, could he have so effortlessly handled three large monsters?
To be honest, he didn't know.
Even with his current abilities, he wasn't entirely sure.
Relying purely on the sword techniques of the Wolf and Cat Schools? Difficult.
If he used Beast Roar, potions, and other magic, he could probably manage—but it definitely wouldn't be as effortless. Moreover, back then, the Chief had clearly not revealed his full power.
Thinking about it now,
Chief Sol had suddenly transformed from the "Mistress Vera's lover" and "anxious-to-step-down Chief" into someone truly unfathomable.
At that moment—
"Clap~ Clap~ Clap~"
Claral and Erni dusted themselves off and approached.
They stared at Vesemir with extreme excitement for a while, observing his changes. Then, noticing the disheveled state of the returning Clay and Ice, they suddenly remembered something and gave Allen an aggrieved look.
Allen, however, completely ignored the looks from the young Witchers.
Maintaining a Quen shield in the wilderness was crucial.
But after Claral, Erni, and the other young Witchers became proficient at hunting necrophages, they constantly sought new ways to compete.
Kill count, decapitation ratio, hunting speed…
These were, of course, valid ways to compete. Allen and Vesemir encouraged such positive rivalry.
Even though aiming for a higher decapitation ratio was slightly dangerous and time-consuming, it still honed their skills. However, lately, the young Witchers had taken it a step further—starting a reckless trend of hunting necrophages without using Quen.
That very afternoon, a Witcher had dared to hunt without activating the protective Sign.
Vesemir immediately gave them a harsh lesson.
But Claral, Erni, and the others were at the rebellious age. They had long since shed their initial reverence for the cold-faced, warm-hearted Witcher Master.
They didn't say anything, but Allen could tell they weren't fully convinced.
This lesson, however, should be enough to make them remember: accidents can happen at any time, and Quen is a Witcher's second life.
Ignoring the expressions of the arriving young Witchers, Allen turned curiously to Vesemir.
"The Chief is different from us because…"
"Wait!"
Allen cut himself off and reminded, "Battle Roar: Berserk has significant side effects. We should restore your 'Vitality' and exit berserk mode first. Can you do it?"
"Vitality…" Vesemir instinctively licked the metallic taste lingering in his mouth, considered it, and praised, "Good name… I'll try… I should be able to…"
Before he could finish speaking,
His body trembled, his rugged face suddenly turning pale and weak. His muscles shrank, and his once-tight Witcher Master armor now looked a bit loose. However, since Vesemir had only been in Berserk Mode for less than a minute,
The pallor faded quickly.
Still, he uncomfortably rolled his shoulders, likely unaccustomed to the sudden loss of strength.
Seeing everyone staring at him, he instinctively tried to divert attention.
"The Chief being different from us isn't exactly a secret…" Vesemir said. "You all remember the Trial of the Grasses, right?"
"Who could forget that…" Ice grumbled.
The expressions of the other young Witchers—and even Allen—darkened.
Vesemir ignored their reactions and continued, "The Wolf School has three trials: Choice, Grasses, and Mountain…"
"Choice and Mountain both involve consuming potions, but at their core, Choice is to prepare an apprentice's body for the Trial of the Grasses, and Mountain is to assess the effects of the Grasses trial."
"The Trial of the Grasses is the true transformation from human to Witcher."
"Of course…"
He paused, glanced at Allen, and added, "Nowadays, the Trial of the Grasses has almost no risk of death. But the essence of Choice hasn't changed."
The young Witchers all understood what Vesemir meant.
The complaints from being "tricked" earlier faded, and their eyes followed Vesemir's gaze toward Allen.
"Not just that…" Claral sighed, glancing at Erni, Ice, and the other young Witchers. "If it weren't for the Captain… Just the Trial of the Mountain alone would have halved our numbers."
The weakest among them, Spencer and Hughes, lowered their heads in silence, knowing they were likely among those who would have perished.
Not just half…
Vesemir's gaze swept across the young Witchers' faces as he thought,
The Trial of the Grasses alone used to eliminate 60% of candidates, and the Trial of the Mountain rarely had a survival rate above 50%.
In a group of seven, if two survived, that was a "prosperous" year for the Wolf School. More often, none survived.
Allen disliked the somber atmosphere.
It reminded him of the underground alchemy chambers where he had left behind the deformed corpses of young apprentices—and the empty gray bed sheets of those who never returned.
"So, Vesemir, what does the difference between the Chief and us have to do with the Trial of the Grasses?" Allen interrupted.
"Forktail spinal fluid, griffin venom gland, albino bruxa's tongue, yarrow root, broadleaf plantain, mandrake root…" Vesemir listed off the various alchemical ingredients.
Allen seemed to have realized something but remained silent.
"The school's sorcerers refine these materials into 'Mother's Tears,' 'Wild Rye Juice,' and 'Thatch Sap,' which are then combined and brewed into the decoction used for the Trial of the Grasses…" Vesemir continued, revealing what should have been a closely guarded school secret. "However…"
"The decoction for the Trial of the Grasses wasn't always made from these specific potions…"
Erni suddenly realized, "Master Vesemir, are you saying that Chief Sol's potion formula for the Trial of the Grasses was different from ours?"
"That's correct, but there's more to it than that." Vesemir shook his head.
"The potion formula used by the Griffin School was the same as that of its founder, Grandmaster Erland of Larvik. It significantly enhanced the magical reserves of their mutated organs and the strength of their Signs…"
"The Bear School's potion was also identical to that of Arnaghad… well… Grandmaster Arnaghad. It completely suppressed emotions while granting immense brute strength—strong enough to tear apart monsters with bare hands—something no other Witcher school could match…"
"The Viper and Manticore Schools, though different from their founders, derived their potion formulas from the Bear School due to their historical ties."
"What about the Cat School?" Clay immediately pointed out the missing part of Vesemir's explanation.
"The Cat School? Those cowards who only know how to assassinate humans but don't dare face monsters head-on? They don't even deserve to be compared to us Witcher schools…"
Vesemir shot Clay a sharp glare, making him shrink back.
Still, Vesemir elaborated, "The Cat School was never a properly inherited Witcher school. Their formulas are incomplete. The true founders of the Cat School weren't even from the Witcher Order—they were test subjects of a group of evil sorcerers."
Clay still seemed to have doubts about the Cat School.
Or rather…
Because of Allen's exploits, all the young Witchers were intrigued by this school, rumored to have been personally wiped out by their Grandmaster.
But seeing Vesemir's reaction to even hearing the name "Cat School," no one dared to ask further.
"What about the characteristics of the Wolf School?" Claral brought the conversation back on track.
The other Witchers, including Allen, were also interested in this question.
After all, in the original story from his past life, there wasn't much detail about the Trial of the Grasses, let alone the differences between each school.
The games had some references, but those were based on the player's skill tree, equipment, and secondary mutations, rather than actual differences in potion formulas.
"What do you think?" Vesemir asked.
Erni answered, "Balance?"
"Somewhat related, but not entirely," Vesemir stopped being cryptic and stated, "It's survival rate. Other schools, including the Griffin School, all had lower survival rates for their Trial of the Grasses compared to the Wolf School—by about three percent."
"Before Allen created the drowner heart essence extract, this difference had been widened to ten percent after centuries of research."
That seems meaningless now… Claral thought. The death rate for the Trial of the Grasses had dropped to zero…
But then he realized—other schools didn't have access to the drowner heart essence extract. So now the difference in survival rates had widened to… seventy percent?!
Wait!
Hearing this for the first time, Claral and Erni exchanged glances, their eyes widening in shock.
The Wolf School had spent centuries raising the survival rate by ten percent, and their Captain had increased it by sixty percent in just a few years?!
Yes.
They still didn't know that Allen had developed the drowner heart essence extract in just a few days—after all, Allen never had the habit of announcing such things.
While the young Witchers exchanged looks, Vesemir continued speaking, his tone growing more serious and respectful.
"Chief Sol, Master Whitelock, and a few other Witchers were among the last remaining Witchers at Castle Morgraig—the stronghold of the Witcher Order. They chose the potion formula with the highest survival rate, even though some other formulas, differing by only two or three percentage points, had superior effects…"
"Wait a minute!" Clay and Ice suddenly stood up. "The Wolf School had other formulas?!"
"Of course!" Vesemir raised an eyebrow, lifted his chin, and spoke with pride. "We are the true successors of the Witcher Order. We have access to not just our own formulas, but those of the Griffin, Bear, and even the Bear-derived Viper and Manticore Schools, all stored in our underground alchemy lab…"
Allen was stunned and quickly asked, "Then what about Grandmasters Erland and Arnaghad?"
"Traitors and cow—" Vesemir nearly blurted out his true thoughts but quickly corrected himself. "Ahem, how could the refined and dignified Grandmaster Erland possibly steal the Witcher Order's research from its rightful heirs?"
"They simply recorded their own formulas and left."
"If the survival rate has improved, why not use the more specialized potion formulas?" Ice asked in confusion.
Vesemir looked at him as if he were an idiot.
"Shut up, you fool! The drowner heart essence extract was only invented six months ago!" Claral seized the opportunity for payback and smacked Ice on the head.
The young Witchers started roughhousing.
But Ice' question sparked a thought in Allen.
He was right!
With the survival rate increased, they could now experiment with different potions to train apprentices according to the needs of their respective schools, enhancing their specific strengths and abilities.
Come to think of it…
The Chief, who had been in low spirits lately, and Lady Vera, who had been mysteriously busy, might not have even realized they had other options.
Wait!
A sudden realization struck Allen.
If the drowner heart essence extract could enhance all Trial of the Grasses potions… then wouldn't that mean… wouldn't that mean the revival of the Witcher Order?!
"I need to remind Lady Vera about this when I get back," Allen noted to himself before asking,
"So, Master Vesemir, what was special about the formula the Chief used for the Trial of the Grasses?"
"Quiet! You're all getting off track!" Vesemir shot sharp glances at the noisy young Witchers before sitting up straight on the large rock.
As the hilltop fell silent, the mountain wind swept through the long grass, whistling around their tense faces.
Vesemir solemnly declared: "Dragons."
"The Chief's Trial of the Grasses formula contained the essence of the most powerful monster in the world—"
"A dragon!"
.....
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