The Witcher: Grinding Experience Starting as a Wolf School Witcher

Chapter 116 Old Friends

Chapter 116 Old Friends

"Hahaha."

The young witchers burst into laughter, genuinely happy for Arwen.

Geralt and Escal were also very pleased to see this.

They were about the same age as Arwen, and had not yet achieved the worldly wisdom of Vesemir.

What's wrong with a young witcher craving glory?

Even Geralt in the future was overjoyed when he was knighted by Meve, and even drifted for several days before heading south to find Ciri.

Vesemir stepped forward and took Arwen's hand. "Children, let me say a few words to Arwen."

Everyone noticed that something was wrong with Vesemir and shut their mouths.

Vesemir and Arwen went outside and deliberately found a secluded corner.

Even in the cold air, the smell of burning embers could still be detected.

Vesemir looked at Arwen with a serious expression.

"Child, I remember telling you that witchers must remain neutral, didn't I?"

Alwin said, "I know, Vesemir."

"Then why did you accept the title of baron? It will tie our identities to Cordwin."

Alwin sighed. "I had no choice."

"To quickly restore his reputation, he must have royal testimony."

"And Atamon's death makes our situation even more dangerous."

"If we don't agree, Kael Moham will probably never have a peaceful day."

2

"I have designated Kaer Morhen as part of my territory, so that at least the events of that year will not easily repeat themselves."

"Furthermore, remaining neutral does not mean that we should stand idly by in certain matters."

Vesemir frowned, pondered for a long time, and finally sighed. "Remain neutral. I killed Artamon, which violated the Witcher's code. What right do I have to criticize you?"

He looked somewhat dejected.

Although Alwin didn't quite understand what it felt like to go against one's own beliefs, he still tried his best to persuade him.

"But it's not all bad; at least Miodrag gave us a lot of preferential treatment."

Vesemir looked up.

Arwen recounted the matter that the Witcher had commissioned.

Vesemir became increasingly shocked as he listened.

Ten years is a perfectly acceptable timeframe for a long-lived species like the Witcher.

By then, the Witcher's situation will have greatly improved.

A single mission costs at least 50 crowns, which can quickly fill a Witcher's pockets.

Maybe after a few years, Kyle Mohan can be restored.

He asked incredulously, "Is His Majesty really treating us this well?"

"Um."

Vesemir's frustration dissipated considerably, and the image of Kaer Morhen's rise to power began to appear in his mind.

The Wolf School is about to return to its golden age.

Alvin lowered his voice, "But I always feel something's off. Don't you think Miodrag's goodwill towards us is a little too obvious?"

"Indeed," Vesemir frowned.

The two hesitated, then suddenly he looked up at Alwin's young face and suddenly realized something.

The third floor of the palace.

Miodrag did not rest, but instead sat behind his desk.

The servants, carrying oil lamps, brought over a wooden plank and temporarily sealed the broken window to keep the cold wind out.

The fire in the fireplace was burning brightly, casting a dim, yellowish glow over the surroundings.

Royal Steward Eriksson stepped forward, his voice low and deep.

"Your Majesty, it's past midnight, you should rest."

Miodrag put down the letter in his hand. "Okay, I understand."

"How's the repeal of the 'Freaks' article going?"

"Your Majesty, the initial draft is complete, but—"

At this point, Eriksson hesitated, as if he wanted to say something but then stopped.

Miodrag stood up. "Get out, all of you."

The servants in the study obeyed the order, quickly left the study, and gently closed the door.

"Speak, Erickson, there are no outsiders here."

Erikson frowned. "I just don't understand why His Majesty seems to be so fond of Baron Alwin."

Miodrag relaxed his shoulders considerably, picked up the envelope from the table again, and handed it to Eriksson.

The latter glanced at it, a look of astonishment flashing in his eyes.

The letter was sent from Gos Velen of Temeria.

The signature is that of Tissaya de Veres, the principal of the Aretusa Academy.

I glanced through it briefly; it was a letter recommending Alwin.

Erikson found it hard to believe that such praise came from the pen of the current headmistress of the sorceress academy.

Miodrag turned his back. "We both know that the Ban Aard Magic Academy holds a very prominent position in Cordwin. The funds invested in it each year account for almost half of Cordwin's budget, and it continues to increase."

"And these wizards? They're just a bunch of greedy bloodsuckers clinging to Cordwin. They finally managed to create a golem, and it's caused such a huge disaster."

"Perfect timing, let's take advantage of this opportunity to give them a good beating."

"In a few days, a sorceress will also be coming from Aretusa to assist us."

"A sorceress?" Erikson was taken aback.

"Yes, the person Tissaya introduced is their star pupil, named Sabina Glivichger."

Eriksson memorized the name.

"Alright," Miodrag turned around, straightened his cuffs, "Erikson, let's get back to your question."

"You have assisted me for most of my life, and I have long regarded you as my right-hand man and my best friend."

"It is my honor, Your Majesty."

"Ha, my friend, after all these years, have you seen through the true nature of the nobility? Especially their promotion system."

Erikson thought for a moment, "It's bloodline, sexual relations, and military merit."

“That’s right,” Miodrag said. “You see things very clearly. So, do you think Arwin’s military achievements are enough?”

Erikson said, "He saved the emperor, and the title of baron is indeed sufficient, but the treatment he received—"

Miodrag shook his head: "You still haven't seen it clearly. The source of power is indeed the three methods you mentioned, but the most effective one is bloodline."

"Bloodline is the law, and he calls himself Arwen, refusing to reveal his family name no matter what."

2

"Ha, but I would never mistake this face; it looks exactly like Baldwin when he was young."

"And his aristocratic manners are definitely ingrained in his bones from childhood; they can't be learned in just a few days."

Baldwin!?

Erikson murmured the name several times, then suddenly looked up as the image of a person flashed into his mind.

Baldwin Thyssen!

"You mean, he is—"

"Shh—" Miodrag put his index finger to his lips, making a shushing gesture.

Erikson suddenly realized why His Majesty treated Arwin so well.

It turns out he is the son of an old friend.

"Click click click—"

The cold wind blew across the wooden planks, making a sickening sound.

Miodrag turned to look at him, muttering to himself.

"The Thyssen family's son, ha, Baldwin, you're going to owe me a huge favor now. I wonder if you'll see this in hell."

"And those bastards from Humphries, ugh, they love to provoke us on the border?"

"Just wait, you bunch of usurpers, wait for my army, and wait for the wrath of the Thyssen family."

"