"What's the difference?" Allen asked. "Since witchers are needed to regularly clear out suddenly appearing monsters, Drakenborg's strength shouldn't be that impressive, right?"
"That's not how it works," Danthe shook his head. "The contracts issued by this prison-fortress aren't immediate. From the time someone notices something unusual to when a witcher accepts the contract and arrives, it's at least a month's delay."
"What kind of city or fortress can endure constant harassment from monsters for an entire month?"
"And not just any monsters—sometimes even large ones, or massive swarms of venomous scorpion-spiders, which are even harder to deal with than the big ones."
He looked out toward the bright flames atop the city wall, paused for a moment, then added,"You can see how well-guarded it is."
"Every few years, those long-eared elves launch attacks on this fortress, but they've never succeeded."
Upon hearing this, Allen turned his head slightly and glanced at Vesemir.
Vesemir frowned, thought for a moment, then shook his head.
"I've never heard of the elves successfully rescuing comrades from Drakenborg on a large scale, but there have been many cases of prisoners escaping from inside."
Allen pressed further: "When you take on contracts at Drakenborg, haven't you seen the guards in action? And are there sorcerers there?"
"I've never seen the guards fight," Vesemir glanced at Danthe, and seeing him nod in agreement, continued, "When clearing out monsters, the guards only lead the way. Once you reach the target, they leave."
"As for sorcerers, both the Ban Ard Academy and the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization have labs stationed there."
"I once saw a male mage here, though I didn't speak to him."
"I saw plenty eight years ago when I came here," Danthe added. "Both groups were active. Monsters like the venomous scorpion-spider are rare—their venom is a key base ingredient for many potions and a good medium for gene mutation."
"Those arrogant mages almost fought each other over a few corpses back then."
Vesemir continued, "But not long ago, Ban Ard recalled their mages, and the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization is now over at Ban Ard too. Drakenborg surely still has some sorcerers, but definitely far fewer than before."
"Huh?" Danthe looked surprised.
Ban Ard recalled their mages?
The Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization went to their rival's territory?
What happened?
Vesemir noticed the confusion on Danthe's face.
"What happened in Kaedwen is complicated. Once we rescue Bond, I'll explain it to you."
Danthe nodded and fell silent.
Moonlight spilled quietly onto everyone in the forest.
But the faint screams coming from Drakenborg made even the serene glow on the birch, beech, and ash trees unable to soothe the unease in their hearts.
Everyone's gaze fell on Allen, waiting for him to decide.
Allen stared fixedly at the dragon-fortress known as Drakenborg, as if trying to bore a hole through the walls with his eyes so he could rescue Bond.
"We have the Royal Griffon. We could fly back to Kaer Morhen and bring back Chief," Danthe suddenly broke the silence, his expression conflicted. "Chief should still be at the Ancient Sea Fortress. Once we bring him here, whether it's storming the place or pressuring Drakenborg to hand over Bond, it shouldn't be hard."
Vesemir was silent for a few seconds, then nodded as well. "Allen, Chief does have the ability."
"Bond can't wait…" Allen shook his head.
At the griffon's full speed, it would take at least half a day to fly from here to Kaer Morhen and back. If Chief wasn't at Kaer Morhen, they'd have to search elsewhere.
It had already been half a day since Bond was knocked out. Did he really have another half day left?
Danthe seemed to have anticipated Allen's response. He forced a wry smile.
"Of course Bond can't wait. I—"
"Ahem~" Vesemir let out a light cough.
Danthe glanced at Vesemir, paused, then continued: "Vesemir and I will stay behind, scout the castle, and stabilize the situation."
"You take Erni, Klar, and the others back to find Chief…"
"No!" Before Allen could say anything, Danthe was interrupted by Ice's firm refusal. "We're staying too! We'll help save Bond!"
"Let's just storm in there!" Clay exclaimed indignantly. "We've taken down Leshens, Alghoul, Great Griffins, Scurvers... even an evil god! Why would we fear a bunch of humans and sorcerers? We'll fight our way in and rescue—"
"Shut up, Clay!" Vesemir shot him a glare.
Even Erni, usually the most well-behaved, sided with Clay this time.
"Master Vesemir, let us stay. The seven of us together can already take on a Alghoul, or fifty regular ghouls. We could definitely handle a hundred human soldiers..."
"Yeah! That's right!" the other young witchers chimed in.
Vesemir and Danthe were struggling to keep them all in line.
"Enough!" Allen frowned and gave a quiet but firm command. The young witchers instantly fell silent.
"Listen to Masters Vesemir and Danthe. Don't make trouble. It's not time for you to throw your lives away yet."
Then he turned to Danthe.
"Master Danthe, I think your idea is a good one. We do need someone to go check on the situation inside Drakenborg..."
Danthe visibly breathed a sigh of relief—but for some reason, he also looked a bit disappointed.
Then he heard the word he was dreading: "But."
"But I think we need to change the plan a little," Allen said.
Danthe frowned. "Change how?"
Allen didn't answer right away. He looked around at the gathered witchers, and his gaze stopped on Fred.
"Fred, give me your leather armor…"
---------------------
The silhouettes of the mountains loomed faintly in the darkness.
The wide Duppa River flowed from the mountains, its waters deep and still, even more silent and somber than the forests beneath the peaks—like it carried with it the darkness born in the mountain depths.
Sam was the son of a farmer, and once a farmer himself. But after only a few days working the land, he ended up here, becoming a soldier.
Of course, not everyone saw him as a soldier. Some just called him a prison guard.
But Sam didn't like that title—just as he didn't like the cold, lifeless fortress behind him.
Yet life had never given him much of a choice.
When his farmer father was dragged into the Modian River by a drowner, he had no choice…
When his family's farmland was taken because of some damned debt and inheritance dispute, he had no choice…
When he was conscripted and, just for failing to salute an officer promptly, got assigned to this hellhole—again, no choice…
And now, of course, was no different.
It was high summer, and the flames still crackled under the bridge arch, licking at the firewood stacked in the wall sconces. But even that couldn't chase away the pervasive chill that clung to everything.
Some said it was the curse of the non-humans who died in Drakenborg. Others said it was the temperature of ghosts—that in places he could and couldn't see, souls were packed into every corner of the fortress like grains of wheat stuffed into a burlap sack...
Sam leaned against the cold stone wall and shivered.
"On the road to eternity, every man bears his own burden…"
"Wisdom knows no status—the son of a shepherd may yet slay a dragon…"
He whispered to himself, reciting lines from the Book of Wisdom by the prophet Lebioda, hoping that the prophet's words might dispel the evil he couldn't see, and grant him some warmth.
"Sam, are you muttering that prophet nonsense again?"
"It's Prophet Lebioda, Martin!"
"All right, Lebioda," Martin shrugged. "But Lebioda sure won't keep you company through this long, frozen night. Only your pitiful and equally ignored colleague Martin can do that. So let's talk, Sam…"
Sam sighed. He believed in Prophet Lebioda. The Book of Wisdom was rich in meaning.
But this Martin—this chattering young guy who had only been here for six months—made the path to enlightenment feel especially long.
He sighed helplessly. "Go on then, my poor Martin. What do you want to talk about?"
Martin chuckled softly, looking like he'd just pulled off a trick.
"Do you know where Lord Evenson went during the day? And what was in that sack strapped behind his horse when he came back?"
"Montecalvo's brothels and casinos, or maybe Tretogor's brothels and casinos—who knows?" Sam shrugged, then glanced at Martin. "And what's in the sack?"
"Martin, the reason I'm still alive in Drakenborg, and not scattered all over some witcher lab's 'junk pile,' is because I can control my curiosity."
"Alright! Alright!" Martin waved his hand dismissively. "I just don't get why a lonely bachelor like you—no parents, no wife, no kids—is so scared…"
"You're a lonely orphan bachelor too!" Sam shot back with a glare.
Martin shrugged without caring. "Then let's talk about topics lonely orphan bachelors should talk about. Which do you think is better: Montecalvo's brothels or Tretogor's…"
Before he could finish, the rushing sound of the moat's water was suddenly interrupted by faint human shouts.
Martin shivered and gripped his spear tightly, shouting into the darkness across the river, "Who goes there!"
"We're witchers—Wolf School witchers," a weak male voice answered from the other side.
Wolf School witchers… Sam and Martin exchanged a glance. Sam grabbed a torch from the wall and threw it across.
Clang! Clang!
The torch hit the stone floor with a sharp noise, sparks flying.
Then, a pale hand picked up the torch, illuminating a middle-aged man carrying a child on his back.
He wore dark red leather armor, riddled with holes clearly visible even across the river—wounds from monster attacks. He carried two swords on his back, like a quiver of arrows.
The man's face was pale but bloodstained; his hair was disheveled, as if he'd just been through a fierce battle.
As for the child on his back…
Sam couldn't see clearly but noticed two sword hilts sticking out over the child's shoulders as well.
"I am Master Danthe of the Wolf School witchers, and this is my apprentice Fred," the middle-aged man said urgently once they recognized him, shining the torch on a badge on his chest, its material impossible to identify from here. "My apprentice was seriously injured, and I'm wounded too. We hope to enter Drakenborg for medical treatment…"
"Are you crazy?" Martin's eyes widened. "Healing inside Drakenborg — do you even know what kind of place this is? This place…"
"This is a prison, I know," the middle-aged man's tone grew more urgent, but trying to avoid suspicion, he forced himself calm and spoke in a flattering manner, "Eight years ago, I was here to clear out poisonous scorpions and giant centipedes. I remember it was Sir Agostino in charge back then…"
"Is Sir Agostino still in Drakenborg? Please inform him…"
"Sir Agostino left Drakenborg five years ago," Sam shouted, "Now it's Lord Evenson who manages Drakenborg…"
"Why are you telling them so much?" Martin grabbed Sam abruptly, cutting him off and whispering, "Drakenborg has never lowered its drawbridge or opened its gates at night. Besides, Lord Evenson would be resting by now…"
"We won't notify anyone of anything. If we go, it'll only do more harm than good!"
"Didn't you say 'everyone bears their own responsibility'?"
"Our responsibility is to guard this gate. Nothing else concerns us!"
On the other side, Danthe's lips moved hesitantly: "Allen, what do we do next?"
"Wait!" Allen whispered close to Danthe's ear, "No matter why the House family of Montecalvo is doing this, they definitely don't want us to survive. Otherwise, their plot would have been exposed by now…"
"As soon as they know we're here, there's no way they won't let us in, especially since we're 'badly injured'…"
"And once inside Drakenborg, I can follow the tracks to find Bond's whereabouts."
"But now, the two guards across the river don't seem willing to let us in — they don't even want to notify anyone," Danthe gave a bitter smile.
"Do you have any money on you?" Allen suddenly asked.
He's asking me to bribe them… Danthe's expression froze briefly, speechless: "Is your training going too fast? It's only been half a year. How could Vesemir have taught you this already?"
Actually, Vesemir didn't teach this. Witcher masters in this age rarely face situations requiring bribes.
"As long as it works!" Allen said. "If they don't even take money, then I'll use the Axii sign."
"I've never seen guards refuse money before…" Danthe joked, interested as they were on the road to rescuing Bond.
"But," he glanced at the broad moat—nearly twenty meters wide—and the two guards standing a bit away from the shore, "my Axii sign might not reach that far. I'll need…"
"No worries, my Axii can." Allen replied.
Danthe was stunned for a moment, then chuckled lightly: "That's really reliable!"
Not long after…
"Master Danthe, wait! I'll go notify Lord Evenson right now!" one guard suddenly shouted from across.
Huh!
The two Wolf School witcher masters exchanged a look of surprise and suspicion.
There really are guards who don't take money…
.....
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