Tying Erni and the others to the royal griffin's legs was not Allen's idea of a joke.
As the only—no, the only airborne transport not just in the Wolf School but in the entire Northern Continent, he had to make full use of Good Girl's mobility.
An Dark God descending was not something young witchers could interfere with right now, but that didn't mean they couldn't in the future.
And if even Allen couldn't resolve the crisis—if, for example, they failed to stop the god's descent—there was no guarantee that the sorceresses would remember to take them along when they fled.
The strained relationship between the witchers and Aretuza was one reason.
Another was that, by nature, witchers and sorceresses belonged to different parts of the battlefield—one at the frontlines, the other in the rear. In an emergency, there might not even be time to rescue them.
And if their allies weren't the sorceresses of Aretuza, but male mages instead… could they really expect those men to act out of pure goodwill?
Besides, not every battle would have mages involved in the first place.
As the Wtcher Corps grew stronger and participated in more battles, these situations would become more and more inevitable. So having a means of escape was crucial.
Of course, Allen could always use a Portal.
But even so, it wouldn't hurt to have another method of evacuation—one that was already known to the outside world.
Besides…
The number of people in the Witcher Corps wasn't fixed, so the more means of instant transport, the better. Thus, increasing Good Girl's carrying capacity while ensuring the witchers retained their combat ability mid-flight was of utmost importance.
And to achieve that, it was crucial for witchers to get used to high-speed flight, the brutal force of the wind… and—
"Captain! Captain! Help!"
"The claws! The claws!"
-----------------------
The young witchers' frantic screams tore through the wind.
And…
Good Girl needed to get used to having several people hanging from her claws—so she wouldn't crush the future of the Wolf School out of sheer instinct.
Of course.
The young witchers' cries were exaggerated.
The hook-ring placements they were tied to had been tested multiple times by Allen and Vesemir. Allen had even personally tested each iron ring mid-flight.
Even if Good Girl clenched her claws, the worst they'd feel was discomfort.
"Good Girl, loosen your grip."
Allen sent the thought through their mental link.
"Screech~"
The royal griffin let out a pitiful cry.
Not long after…
The cries in the wind gradually faded.
"The ghoul infestation near Ellander has been mostly cleared," Vesemir observed, watching flocks of birds scatter from the Mahakam Mountains under Good Girl's oppressive presence. "Next, we'll need to travel farther out."
"I thought it would take at least a week to clear this many…"
That was thanks to his newly acquired Beast Roar: Whisper of Life.
Allen mused.
The ability mapped out a small city's worth of terrain, with life forms appearing in color gradients based on their vitality.
And ghouls?
A deep crimson hue, clustering together like a beacon.
As soon as he stepped into Mahakam, a single roar made their locations glaringly obvious.
No matter how cunning or keen-nosed the alghouls were, no matter how well they hid—it was all useless.
If not for the treacherous mountain paths and his weakened condition over the past two days, he would've reached this stage by yesterday.
To be honest…
If he were one of those ghouls getting hunted down, even he would've reported that someone was cheating. Though, in this world, there was probably no platform to enforce such complaints.
Still, he knew Vesemir's words weren't just idle talk.
The old wolf was genuinely impressed, but he was also testing him.
"Whisper of Life…" Allen muttered. "That's what I call this… hmm… technique. Whisper of Life."
Vesemir's golden, cat-like pupils flickered as he stared at Allen.
Allen sighed inwardly.
With their relationship, there was no need for this much beating around the bush.
Aside from system-given abilities, almost everything he knew had been taught by Vesemir.
The old witcher had never held back, even wishing he could cram all his knowledge into Allen's head.
But Allen understood—this was likely a lingering effect of his refusal to let Vesemir teach him Tracking before their ambush on Vilgefortz.
"So?" Vesemir asked expectantly.
"It's teachable," Allen replied. "In fact, I've already started teaching it."
"Already teaching it?" Vesemir blinked, then recalled how Allen roared every time they entered the mountains. A realization dawned on him. "Wait… don't tell me…"
"It's Berserk." Allen nodded.
"Huh?"
Vesemir's face twisted as if he were a struggling student hearing that he had to finish his homework before playing.
"The Ice Spear Sign may have had an odd incantation, but at least I could gather ice shards in my palm on the first day."
"But Berserk…"
His expression grew embarrassed as he hesitated.
"I practiced that skill for two whole days, screamed my throat raw, and even got stopped by an old priest on the temple road who asked if I was suffering from stress. The man nagged at me for half a day…"
"Yet after all that time—nothing. Not even a hint of progress…"
"Allen, are you sure witchers have this so-called energy in their blood?"
"I've only ever heard that the core of a witcher's power lies in the mutagenic organs from the Trial of the Grasses…"
Allen acted as if he didn't see the difficulty on Vesemir's face. Instead of answering his question, he interrupted and continued:
"Vesemir, I call it the Way of the Roar."
"Berserk is the beginning of the Way of the Roar and the first roar I comprehended."
"When I defeated Aristo, I used Berserk..."
Aristo... Vesemir's expression showed some interest.
"'Wild Speech' was the second one I comprehended. It allows communication with the spirits of nature, similar to druidic magic. I used it to find Good Girl's nest."
"Additionally..."
"A few days ago, I used it to locate six monster nests and a demon-summoning ritual."
"The third one I comprehended was Life's Whisper. You've already seen its effects, Vesemir. These past two days, my body was still weak. By tomorrow, the speed of searching for monsters will only increase..."
To be honest, Wild Speech and Whisper of Life have some overlapping functions. But when it comes to tracking, Whisper of Life is clearly superior.
Not only because Whisper of Life works in both cities and forests, but also because Wild Speech provides the "noise" of a target from nature. If one doesn't know the identity or number of targets, it's not very practical.
Furthermore, Wild Speech can become ineffective if nature is severely damaged. However, Allen didn't believe that Whisper of Life would completely replace Wild Speech.
He felt that Wild Speech must have deeper and broader applications—he just hadn't explored them yet.
Vesemir, stunned by what he heard, suddenly frowned and interrupted: "Wait!"
"What is it?"
"You came up with Berserk when you defeated Aristo?"
"No," Allen shook his head.
Vesemir had just sighed in relief when Allen continued: "The day before I defeated Aristo..."
It was actually synthesized from a treasure chest… Allen added in his mind.
"So you're saying... you spent only two months comprehending three abilities that are so powerful, so practical, and so difficult to learn?" Vesemir asked in shock.
No one in this world had ever practiced the Way of the Roar, and saying he learned it from some destroyed foreign world would only sound even more absurd.
So Allen admitted it without hesitation.
After all, given his "talent" in swordsmanship and signs, plus all the alchemical formulas he had mastered, he was already regarded as a genius by those familiar with him...
"What a monster..." Vesemir sized Allen up, his golden cat-like eyes narrowing into vertical slits.
Alright, he had now been upgraded from a genius to a monster.
"So?" Allen looked at Vesemir with a smirk.
"Can't we learn Whisper of Life first?" Vesemir probed.
Defeating Aristo with "Berserk" and locating the Griffin and monster nests with "Wild Speech" were obviously tempting. If he could learn them, he certainly would.
But honestly, as a witcher, a skill that purely enhances violence and has side effects—like "Berserk"—and one that involves mysterious communication with "spirits of nature"—like "Wild Speech"—were both less appealing compared to "Whisper of Life."
"No." Allen shook his head. "The essence of the Way of the Roar is using one's voice to channel the power hidden in the blood and resonate with nature."
"Berserk is already the simplest and easiest to learn of the three..."
Allen even suspected that "Beast Roar: Berserk" was placed at the start of the Way of the Roar for a reason—it served as the foundation for all beast roars, making it impossible to skip.
Besides, "Berserk" was the only one with a "Battle Roar" version.
It didn't require the mystical ritual process from a red chest, nor did it need the essence of that so-called "Kanu King" beast.
For the other beast roars, Allen had to completely figure out how to convert them into "Battle Roars" on his own.
To be honest.
Even Allen himself wasn't sure how long it would take to modify "Wild Speech" into a "Battle Roar," let alone "Life's Whisper."
Vesemir's face fell, and he sighed with visible struggle, "Then... I'll try again?"
"Give it another shot," Allen nodded encouragingly. "I'll also see if I can simplify it further."
At that, Vesemir sighed again.
Seeing the Witcher master looking so troubled, Allen sighed inwardly as well.
Compared to him, Vesemir—the youngest Witcher master in the Northern Continent, truly known for his genius—already found the Way of the Roar difficult.
For other young Witchers, it would only be even harder.
But they were still too young, had learned too little, and lacked an accurate sense of difficulty.
"How can I simplify it?" Allen felt troubled.
He had placed great hopes in the Way of the Roar—it could potentially change the Witcher Corps' current awkward position.
But if no one in the Witcher Corps could learn it, or only a handful could...
Then without activating the corps' skill "Resonance," the value of learning it wouldn't be that significant.
As he pondered, the Royal griffin had already flown over Ellander.
Since the demon-summoning ritual took place deep within Mahakam, its surface impact on Ellander was minimal—except for some nobles and wealthy merchants who had fled upon hearing the news in advance.
In reality—
After two to three months of repairs and reconstruction, even the traces of the May festival disaster were barely visible from the sky.
The brand-new, densely packed buildings, bathed in the afterglow of the sunset, instead exuded a vibrant beauty.
"Griffin Knight!"
"Godslayer!"
"Griffin Knight!"
-----------------------
The ground echoed with synchronized cheers.
"When will people start shouting my title like that?" Ice clutched "Good Girl's" talon, sniffing the pungent mix of blood and stench, his tone full of envy.
"What title?" Clay teased. "The King of Naps?"
"Shut up!" Ice shot him an annoyed glare and reached out to hit him.
But the moment he moved, the Royal griffin's talons trembled, as if tickled, and started to clench.
His hand froze in mid-air.
It wasn't that he was scared or that he didn't know he wouldn't actually be in mortal danger even if it clenched shut.
But when a claw larger than a person starts closing around you, carrying the immense, instinctive fear of a superior being, it's hard not to have a reflexive reaction.
Both Erni and Claral, who were also in the same claw, hurriedly grabbed Ice's hand and shot a glare at Clay.
Luckily—
The Royal griffin merely twitched its talons and made no further moves. Otherwise, they would have started screaming.
To be honest—
Even though they knew the people below probably couldn't hear them, they didn't want to embarrass themselves like that.
Especially Claral—
The moment he saw Ellander, he had already half-covered his face, fearing that someone below might see him in this sorry state and give him a nickname like "The Wolf School Witcher in the Griffin's Claws" or something equally ridiculous.
Even if they all knew that ordinary people didn't have a Witcher's keen eyesight.
The Griffin stilled.
But the young Witchers had lost interest in chatting and were now staring blankly below at the crowds gathered for Allen.
They shouted, chased after the Griffin's path, and ran wildly from the fields outside the city as if chasing a kite—or making a pilgrimage.
This happened twice every day.
Once when they left the temple for a hunt, and once when they returned.
It almost made them feel like Ellander didn't belong to Duke Mason or Archpriestess Ianna, but to their Captain.
In this city, he was like the child of the gods, descending into the mortal realm, straight out of a knightly tale.
Then again—
Ever since the Captain returned from slaying the dark god, even priests in the temple had started calling him that in whispers.
Maybe their comparison wasn't so far-fetched.
"When will people start chanting my name like that?" The same Clay who had just mocked Ice now looked down at the crowd, dazed.
But this time—
No one mocked him.
All the young Witchers' eyes flickered with deep longing.
They wanted to be heroes—heroes like Allen.
As for the hero himself, he was troubled as he watched the scene unfold.
"Why haven't they dispersed yet?" Allen rubbed his temples in frustration.
The young Witchers only saw the glory.
But glory should last only a moment—a day at most. Having it every single day was becoming a real headache.
Honestly—
The reason he commuted on the "Royal griffin" every day, aside from training the Witchers of the Corps, was to avoid the city's feverish atmosphere.
He could no longer walk through Ellander like a normal person.
If he did, swarms of citizens—and even outsiders who had come just to see him—would rush up to him.
Some were even bold enough to grope him, as if touching him would make them immune to all diseases, guarantee a bountiful harvest, or bring them endless wealth.
Of course—
That was still manageable. At least he had "Good Girl" to ensure he could move around freely.
But the sheer magnitude of his reputation worried him, especially regarding his relationship with Ellander's nobility—particularly Duke Mason.
From a practical standpoint, fame among commoners did little for a single Witcher.
But it did make the nobles wary.
With the Wild Hunt and the White Frost looming, Allen had no intention of starting a revolution—at least, not before overcoming these world-ending threats. So this level of fervor seemed to do more harm than good.
"It's fine." Vesemir patted Allen's shoulder. "The common folk are quick to forget. Just finish off the ghouls in Ellander and return to Kaer Morhen as soon as possible."
"By this time next year, you could walk down Ellander's streets listening to ballads about yourself, and no one would recognize you."
Allen raised an eyebrow. "Master Vesemir, speaking from experience?"
"Of course."
Vesemir smugly adjusted his wide-brimmed black hat.
Then, as if something had crossed his mind, he glanced down at the frenzied crowd below and sighed.
"Of course..."
.....
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