Bear School Astartes

The words from this ’Baron Bodrog’ were filled with exasperation.

”You little brat! Do you have any idea how tense the relationship between the Niflgaard Empire and the Northern Territory is right now? Ever since that damned ’Hunting Marquis’ butchered Steza like a pig, the southerners have turned into mad dogs!”

As Mr. Baron angrily scolded Ciri, Lann turned his head guiltily, purely out of instinct.

And as luck would have it, he met Geralt’s sidelong gaze and naturally turned his head in another direction.

”That fool Veltrest! The result of not turning a blind eye is this! Killing the friendly representative supported by another country domestically gives the hawks within the other country an excuse to overpower the doves, and then the entire nation rushes headlong into the abyss of war...”

”Your marriage to Kristin was supposed to take place two years from now, but now, because the southerners are pushing harder and harder, you are to be brought over immediately to get married, becoming the bond of the Sintra-Videns alliance.”

”You were meant to form an alliance when your grandmother married you to Videns! You were supposed to be a counterweight to make Niflgaard’s attitude more cautious! But now...”

”Now each piece of news is more terrifying than the last! The last time I heard from King Aivelle, he said your grandmother was ready to attack him! Who can believe you ran away on your own? Everyone knows the kind of person Aivelle is, even a toilet cleaner at court thinks... thinks Aivelle did something stupid to you while drunk, then tossed you into a pond to drown. Cough cough!”

The knight with a shoulder wound seemed quite strained, and after a bout of angry scolding, he actually had some difficulty breathing.

The unrecognized ’Hunting Marquis’ promptly stepped forward to lay him down on the bed, diagnosing the condition of the wound in a glance thanks to biochemical knowledge sufficient for multiple surgical procedures.

Lann positioned him on the bed in a way that wouldn’t compress his breathing or wound.

He almost instantly looked a lot better.

”Ah, thank you, kind sir. I feel much better.”

”You’re welcome, Sir.”

Baron Bodrog tried to lift his hand, but as soon as it left the supportive posture Lann had arranged, he felt the pressure on the wound, so he despondently put it back down.

”That title’s long gone, still calling me ’Sir’? Ha!” he muttered.

”I said, even if I return to my own territory, all that awaits me is the gallows. This brat ran off from my carriage, forcing me to drag my personal guards into this damned forest to find her, hoping that I might get Aivelle’s mercy after finding her. By the way, have you seen my guards? There were seven of them, all well-equipped and skilled.”

The baron looked at Lann, who kept his mouth shut, knowing the seven guards were gone.

He sighed, ”What a pity, they were all loyal and brave servants. I wonder, had I hired Demon Hunter Masters like you who can enter the heart of Brokilon, would things have been different?”

”He called you Demon Hunters.” Ciri’s emerald eyes looked at Lann by the bedside. ”What does Demon Hunter mean? I heard Bryan call you Demon Hunters earlier, and thought it was a name the tree spirits called human warriors.”

The baron on the bed, looking like he hadn’t communicated with humans for a long time, took over the conversation quite naturally.

”Demon Hunters are far different from warriors, didn’t you know? Well, youngsters like you haven’t experienced our times, when monsters ran rampant and knowing about Demon Hunters wasn’t optional. Unlike now, when you might go your whole life without encountering one. But not necessarily, now you’ve met three in one go.”

”And you’re the princess of Sintra. Have you heard the story of the ’White Wolf’ lifting the Curse of the Temerian Princess? Master Dandelion even turned it into a poem!”

”Even if you’ve never heard the tales of Demon Hunters slaying monsters, you must have at least heard from your grandmother, the ’Sintra’s Lioness’, about the ’Hunting Marquis’, who was one of the Demon Hunters. It was he who intensified the conflicts between the Niflgaard Empire and the north, forcing you to marry to Videns two years early, inciting this mess.”

”Yes, I’ve heard the stories of the ’Hunting Marquis’. He is Sintra’s Lann.”

Ciri’s green eyes fixed intently on Lann’s, her voice a low, dreamy whisper.

”But my grandmother doesn’t resent or fear him like you do. She said the Demon Hunter who dared to show up and crush Steza’s evil deeds and his head together is a hero! Sintra rarely has a unanimously recognized hero!”

”Yes, yes.” The baron snorted coldly. ”You Sintra people fancy yourselves as brave and fiercely xenophobic. If the ’Hunting Marquis’ didn’t claim to be ’of Sintra,’ do you think you’d still regard him as a hero?”

”To me, he’s not even a Sintran; it’s just for show.”

Just then, Bryan walked in from outside, merely glancing at the baron, who immediately trembled.

Then Bryan headed straight for Ciri, who was huddled by Geralt’s legs.

”Come on, poor little one.”

”Where are we going?” Ciri said with a crying face, ”I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to stay with the Demon Hunters.”

Geralt and Lann exchanged a helpless glance, then forced a smile towards Ciri.

”Bryan, she’s taking you to tour the city. You’ll have lots of fun.”

Ciri said slowly, ”You’re fooling me again. She didn’t cover my eyes when bringing us here, not wanting anyone to know. But those who know can’t leave...”

The little girl lost her voice and said, ”Is that true?”

Bryan crouched down, pulling Ciri from Geralt’s side into her arms.

”No one can escape destiny.”

A voice came from the depths of the room, firm, resonant, and low.

With Bryan holding Ciri, the three Demon Hunters followed behind her, bowing together in that direction.

”Lady Aisne.”*4

Geralt and Vesemir had been here before and were already acquainted.

Whereas Lann felt a subtle difference through the Aron Dite at his waist, a feeling somewhat akin to the Lady of the Lake.

Although the feeling was faint, it undeniably existed.

Lann naturally showed respect to an ’entity’ capable of evoking such a feeling.

The Tree Spirit Queen wore a light and delicate green dress, her expression stern, her tightly pressed lips exuding authority and power.

Her hair and pupils matched, resembling molten silver, much like Lann’s hair.

Vesemir naturally stepped forward; he was the one who truly needed to discuss matters with Aisne.

And having met this Tree Spirit Queen a few times, considered himself the one most familiar with her among them.

However, events unfolded contrary to the old Demon Hunter’s expectations.

Aisne didn’t focus her molten-silver eyes on him; rather, after a moment’s circuit.

”Lann of Sintra.”

That unique, commanding voice spoke again, drawing everyone’s focus to the tallest Demon Hunter.

”You’ve long been famous; if it weren’t for you, all our efforts would’ve been in vain.”

Everyone except Aisne and Lann felt somewhat lost.

Lann, pressing the Lady of the Lake’s Sword at his waist, understood the seemingly cryptic words.

—Was this what the Lady of the Lake referred to as... ”fame”?