Bear School Astartes

Lann doesn’t care about many things.

This is something Geralt can clearly sense as different.

Many things that matter greatly to the humans and sentient beings of this world are completely insignificant to him.

Just like today.

A noble identity, which a family might strive for generations to attain, he doesn’t even symbolically value at all.

Ged has also left.

Only these sixty warriors are left, eagerly watching Geralt.

What worries Geralt even more is...

”What are you going to do?!”

”You know it well!”

A little girl with mouse-gray hair painstakingly pulled out a sheathed longsword from her backpack.

It was the Bear School Steel Sword of ordinary make that Ged had discarded.

The Bear School’s hand-and-a-half sword is inherently larger and wider compared to the market’s standard, and in Ciri’s petite hands, it looks even more like a greatsword.

The little girl gritted her teeth hard, causing her cheek muscles to bulge high.

”Hacksaw’s letter said, ’resisting invasion is the responsibility of the Sintra People!’ I’m a Sintra person! I spat at him when I left, and I want to apologize in person.”

”You’ll only make things worse by going...”

Geralt wearily hauled Ciri back, only to see the girl’s emerald eyes.

His body stiffened immediately.

Because in those young and clear eyes was not stubborn arrogance and childishness, but rather... a realization.

She was serious.

This realization was born from the anger, fear, and guilt of misunderstanding Hacksaw due to the invasion of her homeland... a complex mix of emotions.

Faced with such eyes, Geralt knew clearly that persuasion was impossible.

After experiencing all this, she was no longer the helplessly crying little girl in the darkness outside Sintra City...

She had willingly taken up the sword.

After a brief stalemate, there was another sound beside Geralt.

It was the sound of a lute being picked up from the ground and shouldered.

”Dandelion, don’t cause trouble!”

”This isn’t me causing trouble, I think you have to see the evidence to shed tears.” The poet shrugged. ”As if you could persuade this young lady... the outcome has long been decided, hasn’t it?”

”You can hit her, scold her, even tie her up temporarily, but you know well that the first thing she’ll do once free is head in that direction. Who can confine a Swallow?”

”But it’s none of your business, Dandelion. You can...”

”If your next sentence is ’you should leave’, then regardless of whether I live or die, we are no longer friends, Geralt.”

The poet took off his hat adorned with a heron feather, holding it in his hand with a serious gaze.

”If there was no risk in this, I would, as usual, watch your fight from a safe place, perhaps even sing a song. But precisely because it’s dangerous this time, for the sake of our friendship, you should swallow back whatever you were about to say!”

After being scolded by his friend, Geralt turned to look at the stubborn girl once more.

”I’m not a heartless bastard, Dandelion, Ciri. Of course, I want to help. This might come off as a bit cold, but I still have to say it: in my heart, your safety is most important. If I were alone, I probably wouldn’t hesitate at all.”

The little girl’s eyes eagerly watched Geralt.

He suddenly sighed in a defeated manner.

”So if I feel I can no longer protect both of you, I’ll take you away.”

Ciri nodded excitedly.

Having said that, Geralt turned to look at Lincoln.

”Bury this notebook nearby, make a mark. You all want to go back too, right?”

No one answered him, but every warrior here, their hands tightly gripping their weapons, were creaking.

”Do as you wish. We will go with thirty people.”

Then, Lincoln called out several names, all those most fired up earlier.

He knew, after Lann set an example, the rest couldn’t stay idle.

”And the rest of us will wait here for one day... I hope, as you say, you will return in time when necessary, Master Geralt.”

Even though it was akin to a death wish, those warriors whose names weren’t called, including Lincoln himself, all showed a strong unwillingness.

Yet even so, Lincoln and they still exhibited rare restraint.

To them, ensuring the integrity of this war record was more important than their lives, more important than their inner unwillingness.

Geralt nodded in agreement and turned away with his people.

”Did you see Lann’s expression when he turned to leave, Geralt? That was really... beautiful!”

As Dandelion’s chatter resumed, lively and noisy, the crowd went off in the distance.

”So, do you like men now?”

”No, I appreciate all things beautiful but only sleep with women. Ciri, forget that for now, listen to it later.”

”Ah? Why?”

”No reason. Just this scene is enough for me to write a poem! How about... ’Noble Wrath’? I almost wanted to kneel to him then, to be honest. I’ve figured out the opening line already—it’s going to be soul-stirring: Let that noble wrath churn and roil! Stir up the sacred war!”

”See, this is the influence of a hero! He can awaken the courage within people! Oh, of course. I’m not saying our past adventures weren’t heroic, Geralt. But you get what I mean, right? Your past heroic deeds were all a bit, uh... intricate?”

”I guess you’re trying to say ’not grand enough’, you can be blunt about it. I can handle it.”

”Haha! I knew you’d get me! Only I, among us, could cultivate you to understand a bit of the poetry lingo.”

They talked and laughed as they walked away.

The sky revealed a fish-belly white, and it was just early morning. Wet, cold mist rose from the woods, and the footsteps of those leaving crunched on fallen leaves and twigs, making them appear shadowy and indistinct.

As if they were just going into the forest to find a place for some fun.

As if they were just meeting up with friends somewhere.

”’Noble Wrath’.” A warrior stood by Lincoln, enviously watching their backs as they departed. ”I’d really like to hear it.”

”You will.” Lincoln hugged the large tome he recorded by hand, clutching it tightly to his chest, speaking as if to himself, ”You’ll hear it, Master Dandelion will sing it personally. In the future.”

A massive figure dashed over the undulating slopes and through the thick, withered forest. He caressed the hilt of the sword at his side, with a re-prepped Alchemy Pouch hanging at his lower back.

”Sir, please calm your emotions.”

The biotic AI flagged a red warning icon on Lann’s retina.

It no longer exchanged playful banter with its host but returned to a professional and precise state.

Just by observing the emotional curve, it knew exactly what state its host was in now.