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TWL Chapter 284: Gerd’s Departure, Lann’s Quest
🕑 Added 2025-01-05 01:45:53 +0000 UTCThere are still a few days before the next meeting of the seven major clans.
After last time's lesson, this meeting would be even stricter under King Bran's supervision, and the jarls of the other clans would be more cautious about attending.
This would inevitably be more time consuming.
After contacting Mousesack in Cintra, Lann had some free time when he confirmed that everything was fine and there was no need for him to rush back to deal with any emergencies.
However, before he could breathe a sigh of relief, a sudden bad news was delivered to him.
…
"Are you leaving?"
Lann spoke these words as he faced Gerd. The imposing witcher had a wistful smile on his face, but his decision was firm.
"I have greatly enjoyed the days of adventure with you, Lann. I am convinced that the future you dream of for the reconstruction of the Order of Witchers will come true," Gerd said seriously. "However, I have been following Torgeir, do you remember? My participation in the elimination of the Svalblod cult was commissioned by Torgeir, as a member of the Tuirseach clan."
"Now that the Svalblod cult has fallen and Eist is about to reclaim the throne, I must return," Gerd added with a loud laugh, trying to ease Lann's grim expression.
Lann tried to dissuade him: "Torgeir is also a member of the Tuirseach clan. Perhaps in the future we can..."
"You are a noble, you should know the phrase: My lord's lord is not my lord," Gerd interrupted with a shake of his head. "Following Torgeir does not mean I must serve King Bran or Eist."
"Besides, my relationship with Torgeir is not one of vassalage, but of friendship," Gerd continued. "To be honest, I'm already tired of the life of a witcher. Do you know what awaits me when I return? Hunts organized by Torgeir, banquets full of laughter and boasting, where my stories will be the main attraction."
Gerd, normally cheerful and cheerful, showed a melancholy expression for a moment. As a witcher from the Bear School, his open and sociable character almost made one forget that he was an old witcher, perhaps one of the oldest there is.
"I never chose to be a witcher. Fate forced it on me," he said, patting Lann on the shoulder. "But I'm happy with the life I have now. In fact, you could say I'm retired. The first retired witcher in history! Doesn't that sound great?"
With such words, Lann knew that he had no way to convince him. He could only smile bitterly.
Gerd comforted him, "In fact, if I join you, it might bring you trouble. I fled to Skellige because of the failure of the political struggle. Do you remember? I heard that Cintra is in turmoil now and is striving for all possible power. But my joining may do more harm than good to you, causing your allies to betray you and increase your enemies."
Lann could only shake his head when he heard this. With so many reasons, he knew that it was impossible to keep Gerd. "Anyway, the door of Cintra is always open to you. If you want to experience retirement life in another place later, I will definitely treat you well."
Gerd laughed, assuring him that one day he would visit the north to meet up with old friends.
Before he left, he remembered something and turned to Lann. "Perhaps I can help you one last time. Is it true that you are helping Fritjof search for his missing apprentice?"
Lann nodded.
"If you want to help him find his apprentice, I might have some clues," Gerd said thoughtfully, his expression complicated. "When I was helping Gremist gather herbs, I visited Morskogen Forest. There I met a druid apprentice."
Gerd seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "His situation, how shall I put it… was a bit of a mess. He seemed lost in a life of indulgence, as if he didn't want to return to the Druid Circle. I'm not sure he's Fritjof's apprentice, but I think he must know something."
Lann was puzzled. As he listened to Gerd, a strange feeling of familiarity washed over him.
Just as Lann expected, Gerd's expression became more serious. "The reason why that apprentice stayed in the forest, unwilling to return, is the same reason why I was unable to collect the Pimpernel," he said, his tone grim.
"There lives a succubus."
...
On the island of Ard Skellig, two of the seven great clans resided, and it also housed a vast trading port. Its level of development and civilization was remarkable.
However, even on such an island there were extensive primeval forests. Perhaps this was partly due to the deliberate care of the druids. The inhabitants of Skellige often found the mountains and forests to be ideal grounds for strengthening their mettle.
The Morskogen Forest was the largest of these primeval forests.
"Black Wind, stop——"
The black horse, agile as the wind, stopped abruptly upon hearing its master's order, causing a light breeze that stirred the flowers and leaves around it.
Lann dismounted deftly and bent down to carefully pick an herb that bloomed with red flowers.
He was alone, with no soldiers, no followers, no witchers.
At his current level of skill, Lann no longer needed companions. Human soldiers were of no use to him either as a threat or as support, except for minor tasks.
As for the witchers, they could be useful but considering that he would not remain in Skellige for long, he had sent Geralt and the rest to complete as many quests as possible.
After all, quests were plentiful in Skellige. Not only did this help Lann make up for the loss of experience caused by the follower contract with Bill and Svanrige, but it also helped his followers level up and become stronger faster.
...
Lann examined the red petal of the flower he held for a moment before giving up trying to identify the plant. Although he had Mousesack's herbarium, he had not yet memorized it. He only knew that it was a valuable herb, but as for its exact name or properties, he had no idea.
As Lann sighed in frustration, the dark magic scimitar on his back emitted an emerald glow. Immediately, Iris appeared beside him.
Iris stood on the grass, the sunlight filtering through the tree branches giving a golden glow to her already translucent silhouette. Although she was a soul, she seemed to be covered in light at the moment, her skin sparkling as if it were decorated with tiny diamonds.
Iris looked at the plant in Lann's hands, pondered for a moment, and said, "It appears to be Pimpernel. It has anesthetic properties. It's a pity that its roots aren't well developed. If they were, it could be used as a valuable alchemical ingredient."
Lann raised an eyebrow at the unexpected remark.
"Since when do you know so much about herbs?" he asked, incredulously.
Iris smiled faintly. "When you're busy, I draw or read. Mousesack is a great scholar, and the books he gave you contain knowledge that even the nobility hardly has access to. I have learned much from them."
Lann chuckled. "No need to justify yourself. I'm not surprised you know this. I'm just glad to see you out of the scimitar. It must be exhausting being cooped up in there all the time."
Iris looked down, somewhat embarrassed. "You asked me to paint landscapes for the jarls of Skellige. I thought this forest was a good place to get inspired, so I went out.”
"As for staying inside your scimitar on a regular basis, that's my decision. I like to observe the changing landscapes and accompany you, but I prefer not to appear in front of those soldiers. Their gazes make me too uncomfortable."
Iris smiled brightly as she looked at Lann.
Black Wind, sensing a familiar presence, snorted softly, taking enthusiastic steps forward to approach his companion. Iris was quick to materialize into a tangible form, gently stroking the animal's fur as she brushed it.
Lann let out a light laugh. With a movement he pulled out a map marked with routes by Gerd from his inventory. He then activated his witcher senses to orient himself within the forest.
When he looked up again, he saw Iris riding on the horse's back, apparently waiting for him.
"Come on, Black Wind!"
The majestic horse let out a neigh full of enthusiasm and began to gallop through the forest.
Black Wind moved with extraordinary agility, as if the obstacles in the dense primeval forest, which would be a challenge for any warhorse, were nothing more than a game. The witcher horse elegantly dodged trees, leaped over rocks that it could have walked around, and its hooves playfully splashed water as it crossed streams.
