Bear School Astartes

Replenishing consumable trinkets isn’t much of a matter anyway, and Lann coming to find Belengar isn’t just for these.

The hustle and noise of the market square were gradually left behind by the two, and the paving underfoot grew ever more neat and solid as they drew closer to the Workshop District.

The Workshop District is entirely made up of supporting facilities for Valyrian Steel production. Whether shipping goods out or bringing raw materials in, everything involved is heavy.

In order not to affect this pillar industry, this rising industry that means everything to Gos Velen.

The city authorities had the pavement over this whole area laid with brick and stone, and its maintenance frequency is only a little lower than that of the avenue before the Female Warlock Academy, which is also the city’s main trunk road, Kado Street.

”Besides this, there’s another matter—that’s my main reason for coming to you.”

Lann spoke to Belengar in a low voice. Their steps didn’t stop, only slowed a little.

”Mm?” The Old Demon Hunter raised a brow in puzzlement, glancing sideways at the tall figure beside him. ”What crap now?”

He lowered his head and saw the potion bottle lying quietly in Lann’s hand.

Just like most Magic Potions prepared by Demon Hunters, that translucent liquid sloshed inside the glass vial.

Lann didn’t say much, because Belengar already knew what effects Big Appetite Energy—this Alchemy formula Lann himself had created—had, and moreover...

”You...” The Old Demon Hunter was silent at first, then asked in a somewhat dry voice, ”How many did you make?”

”Ten bottles.”

”Ten people.” Belengar let out a deep, heavy sigh.

And Belengar also knew exactly what Lann intended to do with this Potion.

The Embers Knight Order—they’ve been showing their anticipation for the Cyan Grass Trial for a long time now.

All the more so since, after killing the Fog Nest Master Terror Tyrannosaurus last time, Lann had already promised them, and that anticipation only grew more intense.

Back when they were with the New Continent Expedition Team, Lann had already hinted to him about these things.

Truth be told, any Demon Hunter, even someone as big-hearted and carefree as Ged, has a unique feeling about the Cyan Grass Trial that shapes and alters their bodies.

Even a close-knit, gentle faction like the Wolf School, whose members are like dear friends and family to one another—when it comes to the torment the Cyan Grass Trial inflicts on Demon Hunter Apprentices, they maintain a deep, visceral hatred.

Lambert has to turn his head and spit sourly to the side just from hearing the term.

As for the cold Bear School and the mentally deranged Cat School, there’s no need to even mention them.

The Bear School is still better—after the mutation most of them lose their emotions anyway.

The Cat School... who knows, maybe when they watch their apprentices endure the Cyan Grass Trial, watching that little boy convulse on the brink of Death in agony, their hearts actually get excited.

Yet at the same time, the Cyan Grass Trial is indisputably the most indispensable step in becoming a Demon Hunter.

It mutates the Human body’s structure, granting Demon Hunters the ability to survive alone in the wilds of this chaotic world.

A Demon Hunter’s pain and power both spring from the same source—contained within a single Cyan Grass Trial.

Those reckless murderers of the Cat School may well love their own strength.

But for Belengar, he has always hated the Cyan Grass Trial.

Because he was not talented in combat, and yet the Cyan Grass Trial caged him inside a profession where battle was his only way to live.

So in his youth he was full of resistance, fear, and anguish.

Only now, with life having improved, has he become able to view the Demon Hunter’s mutation process with any sort of calm.

Even so, that mutation process—the kind of pain that tears you apart and makes you wish for Death—still makes his heart tremble instinctively.

”A bunch of idiots.” He looked with a complicated gaze at the medium-sized Potion bottle resting in Lann’s broad palm, cursing. ”They really have to rush headlong into this suffering? To gamble their lives?!”

”Find a rope and hang themselves! Go to some swamp in Velen and dive straight down! It’d be quicker than this!”

Drowning can be said to be one of the most painful ways to die.

But among Demon Hunters the consensus is: even that is easier than the Cyan Grass Trial.

Lann agreed.

Yet the young Demon Hunter showed no reaction.

He only calmly retracted the Potion he had displayed.

”But this is what they want. They’ve wanted it for a long time.”

Lann’s eyes lowered, his tone level. As if he were speaking of something long since settled and past.

”When Sintra fell, they experienced a helplessness more painful than Death, so now they’re willing to risk everything to make themselves stronger. I have to admit, part of this might be because of me—maybe I’m the one who made them feel pressure and urgency.”

”But no matter how you look at it, we’ve seen their resolve and stubbornness. If professionals like us don’t offer support and oversight, I’m honestly worried they’ll... stupidly try it themselves.”

”You know this—they respect me. And at the same time... I don’t know whether to be gratified or furious, but they’re very opinionated.”

”Hoo~” Belengar seemed utterly exhausted as he scrubbed his face hard with his hand, letting out a long sigh. ”You want me to oversee their mutation process together with you.”

He spoke with calm, helpless resignation.

”Fine, what else can I say? If they want to die, let them die!”

At this point, that was as good as agreeing.

Belengar’s talent as a Demon Hunter might not be anything special, but he’s still a veteran of the Wolf School.

Back in his training days, the Wolf School’s numbers hadn’t dwindled anywhere near as much as they have now. He’s personally witnessed the birth of quite a few Demon Hunters.

Actually, this kind of role would be best handled by Vesemir.

But on the one hand, Vesemir has already left Ker Morhan since Ciri was taken away, and he himself has no reason to stay in an empty old castle. He went out to look for work long ago, and now no one even knows where he is.

On the other hand... letting him see the scene of the Cyan Grass Trial again—both Lann and Belengar feel that would simply be cruel.

Even if the recipient of the potion is doing it willingly, it’s the same.

Once they’d settled the arrangements, Belengar began straining to dredge up his distant memories.

He might curse about it, but in truth he still doesn’t want to see a single Ember Knight die on the Cyan Grass Trial.

”We still need a Warlock,” the Old Demon Hunter stressed. ”A Warlock with strong Mana, someone who can cast Magic in those fleeting bodily signs during the mutation, to stabilize their vital parameters.”

”Back in Ker Morhan’s prime, we had Warlocks working with us long-term in the castle, specifically to support the mutation process. Back then our success rate could double, reaching about seven in ten.”

”These days the Female Warlocks are all busy.” Lann pointed behind him, in the direction of Airetusa. ”But that’s not a problem. We can wait until their conference is over and talk then.”

”Safe,” the Old Demon Hunter nodded in agreement, and emphasized, ”Safety first.”

The Old Demon Hunter had thought of everything—he’d even thought through what kind of restraint bed they’d need, to stop people from self-harm or suicide under agony.

Given how much Belengar trusted Lann’s Alchemy skills, and having seen with his own eyes the real effect of that Potion, Big Appetite Energy—

He didn’t really believe the Demon Hunters’ Cyan Grass Trial would still be killing people that easily.

It’s just that drastically lowering the death rate is one thing; ending up twisted and crippled is another.

After all, the Demon Hunter mutation is a process of ”destruction, then re-aggregation.” Leaving irreversible trauma and hidden injuries in that process is a common outcome for Demon Hunters.

The Bear School’s cold-bloodedness, the Cat School’s neurotic twitchiness, and even Kohen from the Griffin School, whom Lann knows—his one eye with that murky pupil of three different iris colors.

Geralt’s sickly milk-white hair, Lambert’s almost PTSD-like cynicism.

All of them are manifestations of aftereffects.

So cases like Lann’s, where there’s almost no change before and after mutation, are rare perfect mutations.

So perfect his mentor had never even considered it possible.

Talking as they walked, the two of them quickly reached the heart of the Workshop District—the production zone for Valyrian Steel Ingots.

Black smoke was drifting out of several huge chimneys; the heat from casting ingots could be felt even from here.

”Who’s handling security for the Workshop District nowadays?”

Walking beside Belengar, Lann asked as they headed toward his factory office.

Some time ago, Lann had already given the embattled factory district, wracked by racial conflict, a suggestion.

Use Demon Hunters—”neutral,” ”belonging to no race”—as security, so both Humans and Non-human Races could feel somewhat psychologically safe.

Belengar had, unsurprisingly, adopted the idea.

”Ged, that little bear you know.” Belengar glanced around, didn’t spot him, then said, ”As luck would have it, he’s probably on patrol right now. When he gets off, we can all grab a drink.”

”Him, huh!” A smile tugged at Lann’s mouth.

This guy, like himself, had achieved a perfect mutation out of the Bear School’s crippled mutation formula.

When they went looking for the Bear School Grandmaster Level armor diagrams, they’d gotten along quite well.

Yeah, back then their little team even had a higher vampire...

Thinking of that fellow with the ripped cotton armor overcoat, probably trying to scrimp and save while Lann hand-stitched the repairs himself, the young Demon Hunter chuckled and asked:

”What does he think of this job?”

”What does he think?” Belengar gave a cold snort. ”From what I see, he’s over the moon. At most he has to beat up a couple of Human punks trying to block off Non-human Races for a mugging. For a Demon Hunter, that’s easy and comfy.”

”But I’m thinking I need to kick him out into the wilds of Velen for a bit, or that little bear’s whole skillset is going to get flabby with comfort.”

”And also...”

He was speaking with interest, but halfway through, the Old Demon Hunter stalled a little.

By now, the two of them had walked into the workshop.

Burly Blacksmiths were at their stations, sweating buckets; a sheen of sweat-oil coating their muscle mass, catching the reflection of the forge fire.

The clanging of hammer on steel rang in their ears.

”And what else? Another familiar face?” Lann raised a brow. ”Don’t tell me you dragged Kohen over too? He’s got a mine in Kovir, he’s on the security board there.”

”Not a Griffin.” Belengar shook his head. ”But definitely someone you know, and one of those... how to put it?”

”A familiar face who runs into trouble, then refuses to talk no matter what, yet wears his heavy thoughts plain on his face.”

As he spoke, Belengar had already gripped the handle of his office door amid the workshop’s noise.

But he didn’t rush to push it open; instead, he turned to look at Lann.

”You’ve always got a way. See if you can talk him around. What good does it do to sit there, bottling everything up?”

Lann tilted his head, puzzled.

And the Old Demon Hunter had already turned the handle with a click and pushed the door open.

Lann followed him in, and the moment he turned his head he saw a Demon Hunter with sickly milk-white hair, jerking upright from the stool by the wall in a ”startled awake” posture.

He instinctively hid a few sheets of paper behind his back.