267. Vesemir's Little Note.

The library at the Melitele Temple was not like the one in Kaer Morhen, which was just a slightly larger room in the castle. Instead, it was a whole three-story building.

The tall, gray granite walls gave off a solemn and dignified air. The green vines, with their purple blossoms in full bloom, softened the severity, making it feel less cold and more connected to the living world. And compared to the library at Kaer Morhen, the biggest difference here was…

There were people.

A lot of people!

Many young girls, women, and elderly ladies dressed in the gray robes of the temple moved around, all silent and swift in their steps.

When they saw the only person in the crowd carrying two swords on his back—a witcher—they merely gave him a curious glance. At most, they nodded in greeting but didn't approach to converse.

Polite and restrained.

For a moment, the witcher felt like he had returned to his university library in his previous life, during the time when students would rise early to fight for seats to prepare for their final exams.

Indeed.

This so-called "library" was only slightly smaller in scale compared to the libraries of his previous life. But the reverence for knowledge here was perhaps even greater. After all, the Melitele Temple specialized in herbal medicine, healing, and midwifery...

Most of the knowledge in this library carried the weight of life and death, responsibility, legacy, and sacrifice. The atmosphere was so intense that even the witcher unconsciously began to move with the silent, expert footwork of the Cat School.

Without making a sound, he approached the old woman sitting at the entrance to the library, responsible for keeping records, and softly asked: "Hello, have you seen Master Vesemir… another witcher also carrying two swords?"

The old woman raised her eyebrow, casting a glance at him like an old school principal, then pointed a finger toward the ceiling and held up three fingers. The witcher nodded, quietly thanking her, and then made his way toward the wooden staircase of the library.

Thud, thud, thud.

The further he went up, the fewer people there were in the library. By the time he reached the third floor, there was even another old woman dozing off at the narrow entrance, seemingly there to prevent unauthorized people from entering.

If he wanted to go inside, he would have to ask her to move.

Of course.

With Allen's skills, he could have silently snuck in with a front or backflip. He also had magical tools gifted to him by the elven princess: the invisibility device "Nightfall," the mist pearl, and the bone of a mist sprite for transforming into fog…

In a flash, Allen thought of at least ten different ways he could stealthily enter without making a sound. However, after glancing at the room and seeing no sign of the witcher master, he chose the most simple and straightforward option.

Creak~

The wooden floorboards groaned beneath his feet. The wrinkles at the corner of the old woman's eyes tightened, but she didn't wake up.

Cough, cough~

After a couple of light coughs, the old woman's face relaxed, but she still didn't open her eyes:

"Herbal identification and common potion recipes are on the first floor..."

"Medical books, classic cases, and diagnostic guides are on the second floor. Issues encountered during childbirth are also categorized on the second floor..."

"The third floor isn't for kids like you. While you're still young, you should learn a few more skills to make a living, so that when you leave the temple, you won't starve to death..."

The old woman went on and on, leaving the witcher somewhat dumbfounded, and all the while she hadn't opened her eyes. Out of courtesy, the witcher intended to wait until she finished speaking. But as she went on, her voice gradually faded, and her head slowly tilted to the side, as if she was about to fall back asleep.

With no other choice, the witcher had to interrupt her: "Excuse me, I'm here to find Master Vesemir. Is he here right now?"

The old woman finally half-opened one eye, her gaze moving from the witcher's face to the twin swords on his back. Then, with a slight shift of her chair to the side, she said:"Follow this path straight ahead. The old records are near the big windowsill..."

"Thank you." The witcher nodded in gratitude and quietly passed by her.

However…

He wasn't sure if it was just his imagination.

When Allen brushed past the old woman, he seemed to hear a faint sigh. But when he turned his head at the sound, he saw that the old woman had already closed her eyes and fallen asleep again. It was as if that sigh had been his imagination.

"Was it because her nap was disturbed?" The witcher instinctively felt there was more to it.

But the old woman was already deep in slumber.

The witcher stood silently in place for a few seconds, staring at her hunched and slightly tilted figure before turning back to search for Vesemir.

Tap, tap, tap.

Footsteps echoed through the empty room. The faint echoes from the old bookshelves stirred up light clouds of dust. The light was somewhat dim. The air carried a faint scent of decaying wood. It was just the kind of feeling one would expect from an ancient, aged library.

As he walked, the witcher glanced at the dusty books on the shelves around him.

After passing by a few bookshelves, he soon understood why the third floor was off-limits to the temple's novice priestesses, herbalists, and doctors.

"List of Deaths During the Amavet Uprising," "Common Causes of Death in the Black Death," "An Examination of the Roots of the Farmer Rebellion During the Falka Uprising"…

Amavet was the son of the current King of Temeria, the key figure in a scandal involving the murder of a countess after an affair, which led to a noble uprising in the kingdom. The Black Death might have seemed like just another disease, but even witchers had heard of the atrocities nobles committed against commoners out of fear during the epidemic…

Burning people alive and burying them was just the mildest of their actions.

As for the last one…

Without even reading it, the title alone made it clear what kind of book it was…

Undoubtedly.

The third floor held mostly forbidden books—books that, if discovered by the nobility, could get you beheaded or hanged.

Of course.

The further back you went, the fewer such forbidden books you found. Not because the content was less controversial. Mainly because as time passed, many of the people involved in events like Amavet's scandal had long since died.

For example.

Further along the shelves, there were records of humanity's betrayals, massacres, and conspiracies against the elves. At one time, these might have caused a massive uproar if made public, but now…

Now.

The age of the Aen Seidhe's greatness was long, long gone…

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

The third floor of the library wasn't large, but it wasn't small either.

Even while Allen browsed through the archives on the shelves, he soon heard the sound of wind blowing through the leaves and looked up to see daylight streaming into the dim library through the window. And there, silhouetted by the light, was another witcher.

"It's Vesemir..."

The witcher master was surrounded by a tall pile of books, and not far away was a small mountain of melted candles.

It seemed that over the past few days, he had been searching through old parchments and papers, hunting for any clues about the Wild Hunt.

Tap, tap, tap.

With the soft sound of approaching footsteps, the figure drew closer. Then suddenly, Allen realized something. He had gotten this close, and yet he hadn't heard the sound of pages turning…

With a few steps, using the dual-sword techniques of the School of the Cat, Allen silently and swiftly approached. Then, carefully, he maneuvered around the scattered piles of books.

As expected.

At that moment, the witcher master was leaning back in a wooden chair, his head tilted. A heavy-looking, thick leather-bound book lay open on his lap. Honestly, this was a very difficult sleeping position to maintain. Without the physical prowess of a witcher and a certain level of meditation, it would be hard for anyone to pull this off.

"Didn't they say that seasoned witchers replace sleep with meditation?"

Allen glanced at Vesemir's face, which was partially obscured by a wide-brimmed black hat, and shook his head helplessly. He then turned his head slightly. Opposite the witcher master was an open floor-to-ceiling balcony, where bright spring sunlight and a gentle breeze quietly drifted in from outside. Indeed, this was the perfect place to succumb to spring drowsiness.

The warm sunshine, the gentle breeze, the quiet and undisturbed atmosphere...

Even Allen was tempted, yawning and wanting to take a nice nap himself.

Taking a deep breath to shake off his drowsiness, he perked up.

Allen didn't immediately wake Vesemir. Instead, he lowered his head and took a closer look at the piles of books in front of the witcher master.

"Huh?"

In his mind, Allen let out a soft "huh" and bent down to pick up a note that had been pinned down by a candlestick.

On it were listed several book titles and page numbers, such as...

The White Ship—Spreading Friendship or War? Page 121

Sins Beneath the Pure Appearance of Aen Seidhe Pages 31, 93

Celestial Alignments and Spirals Page 167

Notes of a Wild Hunt Researcher Entire book

Tales and Legends of the Ghost Riders Entire book

...and so on, listing over thirty books along with their respective page numbers.

With just a glance, Allen noticed three piles of books that were neatly stacked, much more organized than the other small mountains of books. Based on the time it would take to sort through such a large collection, Allen quickly calculated that...

Even with the help of Nenneke and Lysa, Vesemir must have been working day and night these past few days, meticulously going through the archives, in order to pick out these thirty or so books and mark the appropriate pages. If that was the case, then Vesemir wasn't being lazy at all…

Feeling a bit guilty for wrongly accusing the witcher master, Allen sighed softly and glanced at the wide-brimmed black hat again.

How exhausted must he be for even the restorative effects of meditation to not be enough?

After thinking for a moment, Allen decided that testing the new potions wasn't something that had to be done today. Thus, Allen chose not to disturb Vesemir and got up to return to the sanctum to continue brewing Moon Dust and Specter Oil.

"Hmm? What's going on?"

The wide-brimmed black hat fluttered to the ground with a slight tremor, only to be caught by a scarred, calloused hand.

With the hat no longer shading him, the witcher master raised his other hand to shield his eyes. His bloodshot amber cat-eyes dilated and contracted twice before he hazily made out the figure of the young witcher standing in front of him.

"Uh... Al...len..." Vesemir rubbed his eyes. "Allen!"

With a start, Vesemir immediately stood up, holding the black hat in his hand. The chair he had been sitting on tilted back with the sudden movement, slamming its legs back onto the ground with a loud thud.

"I... I fell asleep?"

Looking a bit dazed, Vesemir glanced around. Seeing that Vesemir hadn't fully woken up yet, Allen spoke softly: "Rest a bit more, Master Vesemir. The Wild Hunt documents aren't that urgent..."

Vesemir wiped his face, waking himself up a little more, and raised a hand to interrupt: "I'm fine, don't worry about me."

"Back when I was tracking a griffin, I didn't sleep for seven days and seven nights. This is nothing—just a moment of carelessness."

"If I push a little harder, I can finish organizing everything before the belleteyn festival, and we won't fall behind schedule."

"Oh, right," he looked up at the young witcher, "why are you here? Shouldn't you be learning rituals from Ianna?"

Hearing this, Allen sighed internally. Your dark, heavy eye bags don't seem nearly as tough as your words, Master Vesemir...

But judging by the expression on Vesemir's face, Allen knew he wouldn't be able to convince this stubborn old man, so he honestly told him about the potential mishaps that could occur during the Belleteyn festival.

While Vesemir was contemplating that, Allen recalled the reason he came here today. Glancing at the bright sunshine outside, he extended an invitation:

"Master Vesemir, since leaving Kaer Morhen, we haven't sparred with swords, have we?"

Before he could finish his sentence, Vesemir's eyebrows raised, catching onto the key words. He looked up at the young witcher: "You weren't usually so enthusiastic about sparring. What's gotten into you today?"

Allen smiled and patted the potion pouch at his waist, saying:"I've brewed two new potions..."

Before he could finish, Vesemir, full of excitement, grabbed his wrist and began heading toward the stairs.

"Let's go!"

"I know a quiet spot in the temple that's perfect for sparring."

Being led by the enthusiastic witcher master, Allen could only helplessly follow along.

Luckily, just as they neared the stairs, Vesemir slowed his pace, released Allen's wrist, and quietly slipped past the sleeping old priestess. He placed a finger to his lips, signaling Allen to be silent and tread lightly. Finally, after they had left the library, they both relaxed, as though they had just escaped some kind of monster.

"Master Vesemir, who was that old priestess?" Allen asked curiously, glancing back at the shadowy, vine-covered third floor of the library.

Vesemir paused for a moment before replying: "That was the former archpriestess of the Melitele Temple."

The previous archpriestess before Ianna?

Allen was momentarily taken aback.

Wasn't the position of archpriestess of the Melitele Temple a lifelong role?

And why had the previous archpriestess sighed at him?

Was it intentional or accidental?

As Allen pondered the meaning behind the old priestess's sigh, Vesemir, who was walking ahead, suddenly stopped.

"We're here!" he said.

So close?

The young witcher looked up and saw that they were standing in an open area behind the library, partially hidden by trees. Looking up, he could still see the wide-open balcony of the third floor.

"Clang!"

"Crack!"

"Crack!"

Following the sounds, Allen turned to see Vesemir picking up two straight tree branches, each about one and a half meters long.

With swift, precise movements, he unsheathed his sword and chopped off the small twigs and vines before tossing one of the branches to Allen.

"Come, Master Allen."

"Let me see how much you've improved over the past six months..."

Allen instinctively caught the wooden stick and was momentarily stunned.

Not real swords, but wooden sticks?

What kind of game is this?

....

📢20 advanced chapters on p@treaon📢

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268. Offensive and Defensive Reversal.

269. The Spirit-Summoning Ritual.

270. Yennefer Doesn't Feel Pain at All.

271. A Dying Man.

272. The May Festival King.