The Witcher: Wolf School's Hunting Notes

A long sword flickering with a dark glow radiated an icy chill.

Frost mist drifted from its razor-sharp blade, its angular spine, its body etched with intricate runes, and its guard adorned with thorny branches.

It was a fine sword—yet it had no tip...

So where was the tip?

A witcher's years of sword training instantly provided him with the answer.

'The tip is inside my head!!!'

The terrifying sight before him snapped Allen awake in an instant, banishing all traces of drowsiness.

'What's going on?!!'

There was no time to wonder how a sword was stuck in his head while he was still capable of thinking.

Instinctively, he reached back for his swords—Elsa and Balmore—but found nothing.

No!

He didn't even have arms. No hands.

Allen was stunned for a few seconds.

At that moment, the sword moved.

The long sword was pulled from his "head," spun in a beautiful flourish…

"Clang!"

The blade was sheathed.

Through the icy mist disturbed by the sword's motion, Allen finally saw its wielder clearly.

Blood-red armor.

A skeletal horse beneath him exhaling eerie blue breath.

And most strikingly—his eyes…

Deep-set within hollowed bone sockets.

A blood-red ghostly flame burned quietly, suspended in the void.

The other skeletal knights, clad in similar armor, sat astride their spectral mounts, eyes burning with pale blue fire.

'The Wild Hunt! They are the Wild Hunt!'

And not only that.

Allen knew he had seen this scene before—very recently.

The sheathing of the sword calmed him down slightly.

He shifted his gaze to take in his surroundings.

Dark stairways.

A vast emptiness.

A massive space devoid of life…

'The Spiral. I am in the Spiral…'

Allen recalled the special ability he had obtained from the fragment of Ard Gaeth' Gate.

[Name: Spiral]

[Type: Special Ability]

[Completion: 1/5]

[Passive Effect: Dream Echo – In dreams, you have a chance to commune with the Spiral.]

[Active Effect: Eye of Insight – Spend 50 experience orbs to create a shadowy eye within the Spiral. While the shadow-eye exists, you can observe the Spiral. (The shadow-eye can be detected and destroyed.)]

But…

Allen's gaze returned to the Wild Hunt warrior whose twin pupils burned with blood-red fire.

He recognized this Wild Hunt warrior.

This was the same figure he had last seen during his first connection with the Spiral—the one who had expelled him from it.

'But after returning from Ban Ard, hasn't it been a whole week?'

'Why is the Wild Hunt still here?'

'Were they waiting for me? Camping my respawn point?!'

'No way, right? We don't have that much bad blood… Uh… Maybe we do. Two Wild Hunt warriors did die because of me. But the Aen Elle shouldn't know about that… should they?'

'And why, even though that sword stabbed straight into my head, am I still not waking up?!'

'…'

A flood of thoughts surged through Allen's mind.

It was difficult to comprehend exactly what was happening.

Of course, he hadn't forgotten that a whole group of Wild Hunt warriors was watching him like predators.

But here in the Spiral, he had no physical body, no equipment—not even a mouth. He was nothing but a viewpoint. He could observe, but he could do nothing else.

No—wait!

There was something he could do. He could teleport out, escape this place.

But something about these Wild Hunt warriors felt… strange. So he decided to remain still and observe further.

The Wild Hunt warrior who had sheathed his sword still had flames burning in his eye sockets.

Logically, he should be looking directly at Allen—after all, he had just pulled his sword from Allen's body. Yet Allen had the oddest feeling that the warrior's gaze was somehow unfocused.

As if a thick mist surrounded him—one the Wild Hunt warrior knew he was inside, yet couldn't pinpoint his exact location.

"Centurion Renakins?" One of the other Wild Hunt warriors sent out a confused mental pulse.

The one called Renakins shifted slightly, the ghostly flames in his skull flickering.

"The sensation of being watched… has not disappeared," he rasped.

'They really can't see me!'

Allen completely relaxed, though his gaze remained fixed on the Wild Hunt warriors. He was observing them, trying to distinguish differences between them.

For example…

Aside from the ghostly flames in their eye sockets, did these Wild Hunt warriors have any other distinguishing features?

On the battlefield, every opportunity to capture an enemy was rare. Being able to identify individuals and find the most valuable captive was crucial.

Moreover, the Wild Hunt was closely tied to the world-ending catastrophe known as the "White Frost." In the future, if he were to learn the ability Beast Roar: Forbidden Sky, he might only get one chance to use it in battle.

'The centurion's eyes burn with red ghostly flames, while the lower-ranked ones have bluish-gray flames… Their skeletal armor varies in the number of rib-like plates… Even the color of the ribs differs—some gold, some silver, mostly single pieces…'

Upon closer observation, Allen discovered many such details.

He silently committed them to memory for later analysis…

"Clang!"

A flash of cold light.

That same icy long sword slashed down onto Allen's "forehead" again. The runes on the blade flickered with an eerie blue glow, mere inches from him.

And then—

In an instant, the sword was withdrawn once more.

Allen's heart pounded wildly, as if he had fallen into an icy abyss.

Not because he had been injured, but because—

'He couldn't see the movement at all… completely couldn't see it…'

Allen's eyes widened as he stared at the sword now resting in its sheath.

Renakins' actions—drawing the sword, thrusting, and sheathing it—were faster than Allen could blink.

It even gave him the illusion that the thrust came first, and the sound of the sword being drawn followed afterward.

'Right now… I can't beat him…'

Allen immediately came to this conclusion.

A chill ran through his entire body.

If, seven or eight days ago, one of the Wild Hunt warriors who appeared in Ban Ard had been this Renakins…

Then not just him, but everyone—himself, Vilgefortz, everyone—would have died miserably.

And this was just a centurion.

Then what about the King of the Wild Hunt, Eredin Bréacc Glas?

What about the elven sage Avallac'h, or the King of Tir ná Lia, Auberon Muircetach?

How many other Wild Hunt warriors were there among the Aen Elle, just as strong as this centurion?

A terrifying thought.

Truly terrifying.

"The gaze has vanished…"

Renakins' voice, cold and metallic, echoed through the void.

Only then did Allen realize that, at some point, he had instinctively averted his gaze.

He didn't look back at Renakins. Instead, he fixed his sight on the skeletal horse's emaciated body, using his peripheral vision to observe.

"My lord's Iflé is the legendary sword that severs fate itself. Naturally, it can also sever the prying eyes of insignificant creatures."

"Perhaps someone accidentally divined our presence," another Wild Hunt warrior beside Renakins said. "Hasn't Lord Eredin frequently sensed himself being watched?"

"But whatever creature it was, it must have suffered heavy losses by now!" another warrior flattered.

'Not at all!' Allen sneaked a few glances at the so-called legendary sword that was supposed to cut fate itself and muttered inwardly, 'Not only did I take no damage, I'm completely unharmed…'

He didn't doubt the authenticity of Renakins' sword—a centurion wouldn't wield anything less than an extraordinary blade.

Just think of how many worlds the Aen Elle had conquered.

They had likely slain countless deities. A weapon steeped in myth ending up in the hands of a mere centurion wasn't all that surprising.

'But…'

Allen instinctively tried to raise his right hand to stroke his chin, only to remember that he had no body at the moment. In fact, he didn't even have hands.

'Prying eyes… Eredin… Could they be referring to Ivar Evil-Eye, the grandmaster witcher of the Viper School?'

Allen sharpened his focus.

"That's different."

Renakins' blood-red ghost flames flickered as he glanced once more in Allen's direction. Then, he returned his exquisitely crafted sword to the sheath at his waist.

"Lord Eredin senses prying eyes across different worlds. But the Spiral…" He shook his head. "Apart from It, no other being has ever been able to lay eyes upon the Spiral."

"And if it is Him…"

Renakins did not continue speaking, but the ghostly flames in the eye sockets of the surrounding Wild Hunt trembled involuntarily.

'They're afraid!' Allen thought. 'They don't even say the name, just calling it "It," yet the Wild Hunt, who conquer worlds, are terrified into silence. Who is "It"? A god? Or...'

'The White Frost!'

Unfortunately, he didn't get the answer he wanted.

As soon as Renakins mentioned "It," the Wild Hunt tacitly changed the subject, as if even thinking about that existence would bring disaster upon them.

Yet, none of them doubted Renakins' instincts. Even though they could neither see nor sense Allen's presence, they firmly believed that if Renakins perceived something watching them, then something must be there.

"Let's focus on our mission, Lord Renakins," another Wild Hunt member, holding a staff, spoke. "The worlds are full of oddities. From time to time, there will always be beings with unique abilities. Let's complete our task first and report to Lord Eredin and Lord Avallac'h when we return to Tir ná Lia."

"They will capture this gifted existence and put it to use for us."

Though he addressed Renakins as "Lord," his tone was hardly respectful—he spoke with command and authority.

Arrogance.

When he spoke, the other Wild Hunt members fell silent, ceasing their chatter.

Clearly, his status was not much lower than Renakins'.

'Who is he?'

Allen noticed that the other Wild Hunt members wore skirts of interwoven metal plates over their lower bodies, even those carrying staffs instead of swords.

But the one speaking wore a long gray robe underneath his breastplate, embroidered with countless silver stars, some of which were connected by lines—forming a constellation.

Unfortunately, Allen's knowledge of astronomy was limited to the morning star and the moon phases required for ritual magic, so he couldn't identify the constellation.

However...

'A constellation... a staff... a mage...'

'A Navigator?'

The term surfaced in his mind.

After losing the Gate of Ard Gaeth and gradually losing the innate ability to traverse time and space, the Aen Elle had been desperately seeking a way to reclaim that power.

The elven sage Avallac'h had spent centuries searching for elves with a talent for manipulating space-time, pairing them together, and carefully cultivating their offspring.

The result was the Navigators.

Although they couldn't perform large-scale teleportation like the Gate of Ard Gaeth or the Elder Blood, they were experts in spatial magic, allowing them to travel precisely between the worlds already conquered by the Aen Elle.

Essentially, Navigators were an extremely diluted version of the Elder Blood.

'If he's a Navigator, his high status makes sense' Allen thought. 'Navigators must be rare and difficult to train. They also control the routes between worlds, meaning they hold the lives of all the Wild Hunt in their hands.'

He took a closer look at the Wild Hunt member, committing every detail of his attire to memory.

'But what is their mission?'

The Wild Hunt did not provide an answer.

Renakins glanced in Allen's direction once more and nodded slightly before saying nothing further. He simply pulled his reins.

"Neighhh—!"

The skeletal horse reared up, emitting a hoarse, breathy whinny.

"Clatter, clatter, clatter—"

Nearly a hundred Wild Hunt riders galloped once more through the vast, dark Spiral.

'What exactly is their mission?' Allen's curiosity burned.

He hesitated for a moment before deciding not to observe the Wild Hunt directly. Instead, he focused his thoughts and flickered through space, keeping up with the galloping skeletal horses.

One minute, two minutes...

The Wild Hunt kept riding.

One hour, two hours...

They were still riding.

Time seemed to lose all meaning within the Spiral, as did space.

Allen had flickered countless times around the massive staircase of the Spiral, at least completing one full loop, yet the surroundings remained identical to what they had been an hour or two ago.

The only good news was that his special ability, Spiral, had not yet ended.

Of course...

The bad news was also that Spiral had not ended.

He had no idea where the Wild Hunt was headed or how many more loops it would take to reach their destination. So, he had to keep following them.

He even wished that someone outside the temple would call out to him, forcing him to wake up and exit this tedious battle of patience.

An hour inside the Spiral was even more monotonous than a full year of lessons stored within a sorcerer's memory.

So, to pass the time, he had to think.

For example...

Time.

The flow of time in the Spiral was clearly different from the outside world; otherwise, Renakins' sword wouldn't have struck his future self from seven days ahead.

This thought only made Allen's impatience grow worse, so he shifted his focus to the Spiral itself.

Avoiding the Wild Hunt, he looked around.

The meticulously structured staircase of the Spiral was clearly not a natural formation.

Which led him to a question he had unconsciously avoided—

What is the Spiral?

Who... created it?

However, before Allen could delve deeper into his thoughts—

"We've arrived."

The voice of the Navigator suddenly rang out, interrupting him.

Allen's head snapped up.

At some unknown point in time...

A massive window had appeared in the dark, indistinct wall of the Spiral ahead.

Light poured into the Spiral from the "window," yet it failed to illuminate the black void around them.

"Hurry!" Renakins' psychic signal rang out sharply.

The window trembled unstably.

At that moment, Allen also reached the window.

When his gaze passed through the shaking frame and looked beyond—

He saw a blazing sun, a vast blue sky, and...

A desolate ruin.

Where... is this?

.....

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