The Witcher: Wolf School's Hunting Notes

Allen was no longer the witcher apprentice who had first arrived in this world. Over the past half-year, countless monsters had bled to witness his growth. Thus, of course, he had a solution—and more than one at that.

A royal griffin could carry him across the skies; obstacles impassable to humans were meaningless to him.

He could also wait until nightfall, using the cover of darkness and the skill Night.Shade to cloak himself as he approached the monster nest. There, he could employ Witcher sense to discern subtle differences between the footprints left by necrophages.

But the most convenient method was the one he now chose—directly consulting the land's true master.

Under the bewildered gazes of Arthur and the young witchers, Allen stepped onto a flat, dry stone platform.

He crouched, bent his knees, closed his eyes, and began meditating...

Thump… Thump…

The rhythm of his heart gradually slowed, its steady cadence resonating like a drumbeat in the silence.

The world around him grew still.

He reached for the Wild Speech.

Drawing from his experience during the forest fire seven days ago, Allen cautiously extended his mental touch toward the pulsating aura of nature, refraining from diving headfirst into its vast brilliance.

"What is it that you seek, child?"

The voice was ancient, tinged with maternal affection, like a mother's love for her child.

Allen exhaled, relieved.

"The monster nest," he whispered without hesitation.

As soon as the words left his lips, a series of grotesque, squelching sounds of flesh writhing filled his mind, accompanied by the urging of the primal voice:

"Destroy the enemies of nature."

Enemies of nature?

The thought crossed his mind.

It made sense. Ghouls and necrophages weren't native creatures—they were invaders brought here during the Conjunction of the Spheres, beings driven by their insatiable appetite for blood and flesh.

And as for the monster nests, they were anything but natural in origin.

He murmured his agreement. The primal voice seemed to understand and stopped pressing him.

The squelching sounds in his mind became louder, sharper, more defined.

Allen opened his eyes. Rising from the ground, he met Arthur's gaze.

"Take your time," Arthur nodded, assuming Allen had been resting. "The mountain paths are treacherous. We'll regroup and continue searching for the 'Count' once we're ready."

"That's unnecessary…" Allen shook his head, exhaling deeply.

Disappointment flickered across Arthur's face—he thought Allen had no solution either and was about to suggest retreating down the mountain.

"I've already found it," Allen said.

Arthur froze for a moment, his face blank. "Found what?"

"The Count."

Allen's response was brief and certain.

Still half-immersed in his communion with the natural forces, most of his attention remained on the chaotic vibrations reverberating in his mind.

"The Count? What Count—" Arthur blinked, then realization struck him like a lightning bolt. "The Count! You found the Count?!"

He stared at the half-lidded eyes of Allen, momentarily overwhelmed by the surreal idea that perhaps he had fainted for an entire year in that single blink.

But no, he hadn't.

No matter how he replayed it in his mind, Allen had gone from crouching to standing—claiming to have located the elusive "Count"—in less than ten seconds.

Not even enough time to stretch one's sore muscles, let alone uncover a mystery that had left them all stumped.

Arthur cast a bewildered glance toward the other witchers.

The younger witchers—Erni, Claral, Krei, and the rest—gaped, their expressions just as astonished as his own. If not for the proximity of the monster nests, they might have erupted into an excited clamor.

Only Vesemir seemed calm, nodding slightly, as if expecting it.

Yet Arthur, a man well-versed in reading people, wasn't fooled.

Vesemir's fists were clenched tightly, his leather gloves creased and cracking. The amber slits of his cat-like eyes quivered faintly. This wasn't the demeanor of someone unsurprised—it was that of someone masking disbelief.

If Vesemir had known beforehand, why hadn't he said so days ago?

And yet, Vesemir's reaction also confirmed one thing: Allen wasn't lying. He had truly found the Count.

"Allen," Vesemir interrupted with a dry cough, breaking Arthur's overly direct stare. "Where is the Count?"

"Follow me," Allen replied, taking a deep breath. Without elaborating further, he leapt down from the stone platform and headed north.

The others exchanged glances before trailing behind him.

The primal spirit of nature remained as forthcoming as ever, hiding nothing from one of its children.

Every sound emanating from the monster nest reached Allen's ears without obstruction.

What's more, his frequent use of the Speech of the Wild seemed to deepen his connection to the primal forces.

After each meditation, the duration of the bond extended. Where once he could only maintain contact for three to four seconds—like when he captured the royal griffin—he could now sustain it for nearly thirty seconds, if he chose.

If he understood the language of the monster nests—assuming they even had a language—their secrets would have been laid bare before him.

Unfortunately, he did not.

To Allen, the noises resembled nothing more than the revolting gurgling of intestines, devoid of discernible meaning.

Even so, he committed the details to memory.

After all, not every enemy in the wild was mindless. The true adversaries—like the Wild Hunt and rogue sorcerers—possessed cunning and intelligence.

Following the direction resonating in his mind, Allen led the group through hills and valleys, weaving through pine thickets for over an hour without reaching their destination.

The cacophony of the monster nest provided direction but no shortcuts.

In the rugged terrain of the Mahakam Mountains, direction alone was not enough.

They had to avoid paths frequented by necrophages, keep to downwind trails to minimize detection, and navigate the treacherous terrain unique to the region.

If not for Arthur's extensive knowledge of Mahakam's topography, the journey would have been even more arduous.

By late afternoon, the sun was hidden behind clusters of gray clouds.

"Vesemir wasn't entirely wrong..." Allen cleared some rocks lodged in the soil, pulling himself up the steep slope before extending a hand to help Arthur ascend. "If the Royal Guard and the Monster Hunt Regiment had really decided to sacrifice themselves to give us time to locate the 'Count'..."

"It would've been a pointless waste of lives."

Arthur, scrambling up the slope in a disheveled state, paused. "Why?"

"Because there are more than three monster nests," Allen said, squinting as he oriented himself in the dense, sun-obscured forest. "And it's not just barons and counts..."

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, catching his breath.

Allen didn't hold back. "There are seven monster nests in total, and their vitality and strength are split into three tiers. According to Sarah's terms, they're four 'Barons,' two 'Viscounts,' and a single 'Count.'"

He stopped briefly, his sharp blue cat-like eyes meeting Arthur's. "The two monster nests you found earlier were merely Barons."

"Are you sure?" Arthur sounded doubtful.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Allen.

It was just that three monster nests were already outrageous, and Vesemir's earlier conjecture that there could be more seemed improbable.

But doubling that number? How?

So far, apart from the two "Barons," they hadn't encountered any other nests.

Vesemir's face reflected similar uncertainty, but he stayed silent, staring intently at Allen.

Without saying another word, Allen pointed to the other side.

Arthur, puzzled, took a few steps in that direction before freezing in shock. His whole body tensed, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead.

What he saw sent a chill down his spine. A massive, grotesque monster nest loomed like a blood-red mound of flesh, surrounded by hordes of necrophages covering the valley.

"This... this..."

Arthur, once one of Ellander's highest-ranking military leaders, who had survived the carnage of war, the Black Death's unrelenting grip, and even the apocalyptic Wild Hunt, was left speechless.

Seven nests. Seven.

Allen had been correct. If they had insisted on sending the Royal Guard and Monster Hunt Regiment into these mountains, they would've marched straight to their deaths.

Looking back, their escape two days ago was likely due to their small numbers. They had retreated just in time with Sarah, avoiding the full wrath of the nests.

If they had lingered, wave after wave of necrophages from the seven nests would've ensured no one left the Mahakam Mountains alive.

"This one's a 'Viscount,'" Allen said, his eyes on the crimson flesh-like mound of a monster nest in the valley below. Around it were at least five massive alghouls, along with several rotfiends, devourers, and ghouls.

He pointed out the nest's size, using it to confirm the number of nests he had sensed earlier through the overwhelming pulsations in his mind.

"And there's another 'Viscount' on the other side of the valley," Allen said, nodding northward. "Beyond the two Barons we encountered earlier. As for the 'Count,' we still have some distance to cover."

"Impossible!" Vesemir exclaimed. "How could there be so many monster nests here, and how could they have grown to this extent?"

"But they're here," Allen replied flatly, helping Krei pull Ajax up the slope. "And there's an even larger one ahead."

Vesemir fell silent, turning to Arthur, his face grim.

"You Ellander folk... what kind of cursed land are you living on?" Vesemir muttered under his breath.

"Was the old cemetery completely emptied? Five or six thousand corpses wouldn't explain this," Allen questioned.

Before invoking the language of nature earlier, Allen had thought the two Baron-level monster nests were recently formed. But seeing this scale, he doubted even thousands of corpses could sustain such growth.

"It's not about the cemetery," Vesemir interjected before Arthur could respond. His brows furrowed deeply as he seemed to recall something. "I've never heard of this... Maybe during the Witcher Schools' peak, it was possible... but since I became a witcher, no place has ever had more than three monster nests. Never."

"You're saying this many nests are unnatural," Allen clarified, correcting himself. "I mean... beyond reason."

Vesemir nodded emphatically but didn't elaborate. Instead, he turned to Arthur and asked sharply:

"Arthur!"

"Yes?"

"Aside from grave-robbing ghouls, did you notice any other anomalies? Anything unusual before Belleteyn?"

Arthur took a deep breath. He knew what Vesemir was probing for. "No, just ghouls sneaking around to steal corpses. There were a few incidents of people being killed while digging graves, but once precautions were taken, the casualties stopped."

"And before Belleteyn?"

"Before Belleteyn..." Arthur frowned. "There weren't any ghoul attacks on the surrounding villages for at least half a year, thanks to the Monster Hunt Regiment' presence."

"Wait!" Arthur suddenly interrupted himself, shaking his head as if struck by a thought. He looked at Allen. "Do you remember Jessica? The old woman who brought you stew and bread this morning?"

Allen blinked, unsure why she was being mentioned. "The one who's the mother of the Monster Hunt Regiment captain?"

"Yes, Derrick," Arthur confirmed. "He, Sara, and I fought together during the Falka Rebellion five years ago, so I know him well."

"Every year during Candlemas (February 2nd) and the spring equinox (March 21st), he takes leave to go hunting in these mountains."

"In fact, the Monster Hunt Regiment and the Royal Guard's camp below used to be a hunter's lodge for Moën Village."

"If the monster nests were here back then, he couldn't have missed them."

Allen and Vesemir exchanged a glance.

"So at least three months ago, these nests didn't exist..." Vesemir muttered, scratching his head in disbelief. "Three months... and seven nests..."

"How... How is that even possible?"

Vesemir pressed further. "And besides Belleteyn, was there any... other unusual event?"

"Unusual? Like what?"

"For example..." Vesemir hesitated, briefly glancing at Allen. "The conjunction of the spheres in Ban Ard this March."

"No," Arthur replied firmly.

"Then... this doesn't add up..." Vesemir murmured.

Allen's lips pressed into a thin line. Vesemir's mention of the conjunction of the spheres reminded him of something.

Arthur might claim there hadn't been a conjunction near Ellander, but Allen knew otherwise. On Belleteyn itself, just outside Ellander's gates, a conjunction of the spheres had indeed occurred.

The chaos of that night, with the Wild Hunt and spectral tides drawing everyone's attention, had overshadowed it entirely.

But could the conjunction near Ellander have anything to do with these monster nests?

"A conjunction, then strange monsters... This all feels... strangely familiar..."

Allen gazed at the necrophages swarming across the valley below, deep in thought.

.....

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